


Darkness Never Sustains

by emptypockets



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Family, Hurt/Comfort, ITS TIME FOR ANOTHER PROMPT SERIES SO HIT ME, Series 12, Team Bonding, Whump, because i have a lot to process okay, chibnall what the hell, on occasion, the whole shebang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptypockets/pseuds/emptypockets
Summary: She needs them just as much as they need her.-(One-shot series surrounding the events of Series 12)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 363





	1. Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when chibnall said “this is gonna be the biggest episode of doctor who ever” i didn’t believe him. i love the guy but i didn’t believe him. but oh my god?? oh my GOD?? 
> 
> it’s 1:30 in the morning and I have to be up in 5 hours but I had to get the ball rolling on this. title is just a place holder until my unoriginal ass can rewatch spyfall and find a good quote to pull

If she still has ears to hear with, there’s no sound to give them purpose. It’s not darkness that Yaz finds when she opens her eyes, _if_ she opens her eyes - it’s a deeper shade. Endless with no beginning. Everywhere and nowhere, nonexistent yet _completely_ _consuming_ _her_.

Nothing. 

She can’t move, can’t speak, can’t think. This isn’t thinking, this is something outside and beyond. Far away. 

Yaz doesn’t feel a thing, except _gone._

Is this death?

Time passes, or it doesn’t, and the sense of nothing suddenly gives way to the sense of falling, but she feels no rush of wind against her skin. All at once, Yaz can actually _feel_ herself being pulled back together, her fingers twitching into clenched fists and digging painful imprints into her palms. She revels in that feeling, strengthens it and makes it worse - because she can _feel._

Then gravity turns from concept to reality, and Yaz can feel the floor beneath her shoes. Oxygen is once again a necessity and she gasps a lungful, holds it, appreciates it. This is real. This is here. She’s here. _She’s alive._

Yaz became so quickly accustomed to lack of sense that she doesn’t realize her eyes are closed until they’re opening. 

The Doctor’s there, tapping on something transparent that stands tall in between them. She’s saying something and from the look in her eyes it’s urgent, and not directed at her. Yaz’s stomach nearly drops as she strains to make out the soundless words, then realizes that the transparent barrier separating them is, in fact, surrounding her. 

She doesn’t move in case she can’t, and lets her eyes drift and satisfy flickering curiosity. Graham’s there, she notices now, as well as another man she doesn’t recognize, and doesn’t give a second thought. 

Her gaze falls on her prison, and as much as she tries to make sense of it, she can’t. 

When she experiences sound for the first time again, it’s beautiful. 

The Doctor’s distant words filter through a gap at the base of the glass as it’s raised up, freeing her, a promise of freedom, but she feels rooted to the spot. Clinging to reality, just in case it slips away again. 

The barrier is completely removed and her eyes refocus on the Doctor, her aura of urgency replaced with blatant worry. It’s very loud on her. 

“Yaz!” 

It’s the first word she’s able to make out and it brims with such an energetic emotion that Yaz can’t process it. 

In fact, she’s finding everything to be a bit too much. Feeling - it’s taken for granted, she thinks, now that she’s experienced the opposite. It’s shocking, after a lack of. All the colors of the foreign room are too vibrant. Sound is louder than she remembers it being, and she can feel her heart thudding aggressively in her chest. It gets angrier, the more she focuses on it, so she tries not to. 

The Doctor is standing very, very close to her, head ducked the slightest fraction to meet Yaz’s eyes with a powerful focus, but she doesn’t touch her. Hands just shy of reaching her shoulders, moving to hover near her cheeks. Yaz sees unsure fingers flex in her periphery, an expression of soft fear requesting an explanation. 

One that, try as she might, she can’t provide, because her heart feels like it’s trying to escape her chest and the beats are rattling her skull, drawing her brows together in a pained wince. 

She successfully wills one hand to move and raises it to her ear, palm pressed firmly as if it’ll block out the sound. 

The Doctor’s hands suddenly grab her shoulders and the missing piece of reality falls into place. The hold is barely there but safe. Enough, and completely real.

Yaz’s knees once again feel her weight, and she sags against the Doctor’s chest. Readied arms encompass and steady her. It’s reassuring, and Yaz doesn’t move, hand still pressed firmly against her ear while the other clings to the back of the Doctor’s coat. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” One of the Doctor’s hands slide up to cradle the back of Yaz’s head, keeping her close. “How did you do that, exactly? You’ll have to teach me.” Her voice is quiet and comforting, close to her uncovered ear.

“I-” She stops, breath hitching. Never before did Yaz notice that she can actually feel when she speaks. It vibrates low in her chest, catching her off guard. 

“Deep breaths.” The Doctor whispers at the feel of Yaz’s heart hammering against her own. “You can tell me later.” 

She sighs heavily, body sinking into her friend’s hold that’s just a bit too comfortable not to tug her tired mind into unconsciousness. 

“Hey.” The Doctor taps her cheek and Yaz lifts her head, feet shifting for purchase. “I’ve got to go pick up Ryan but I’ll be _right_ back - Graham?” She twists her head around then cocks it backwards to beckon him over. “Find her somewhere to lie down and keep an eye on her, will you? I’m sure O’s got a very comfy sofa.” She says the last bit to Yaz, and with a smile that makes it a little easier to stand. 

Still, she gratefully accepts Graham’s shoulder as he draws her to him, a sturdy crutch as she wills weak limbs to follow the movement of his in the direction of what, actually, looks like a _very_ comfy sofa. 

Graham lowers Yaz down with a fatherly tenderness and sits at her side, swiping at a tear on her cheek with his thumb. “You alright, love?” 

She blinks slowly, trying to figure out what to say. How to explain - what the starting point even was, or what came next. It’s coming back to her in fragments, out of order and scattered and not making any sense. The more she tries to figure it out, the heavier her head feels. The nothingness is all she can remember, and a strain of it is calling her again. 

Graham smiles warmly at her, gives her arm a gentle squeeze before standing up. “Go on. You need a nap.”

Yaz feels no want or need to argue and does exactly as she’s told, sinking into the the couch cushions to answer the call of sleep eagerly. She feels Graham drape a blanket over her and mumbles a thank you, barely there, but reciprocated with a soft pat on her shoulder before he silently excuses himself out of the room. 

The sound of the TARDIS rematerializing jolts her mind awake, but her body is still heavy, begging for sleep. 

“Yaz! Oh my days, Yaz, you’re alive. Thank-” 

“Ryan, shush.” The Doctor’s hushed voice cuts his right off. “Let her rest.” 

Yaz keeps her eyes closed, facing the back of the sofa and curling in on herself ever so slightly as her friends’ footsteps fade away. She’s left with no sound, no sight, and it sits uncomfortably in her gut. She opens her eyes, and the cruel sensation goes away. 

She swallows against the exhaustion and settles for just laying there, still, staring at the pattern etched into the material of the cushions and tracing it with her fingertips. Thoughts almost as blank as unconsciousness itself, but she’s wide awake now. 

Safe from the nothing. 

  
  



	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't want to be alone. So why hide herself away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For tumblr anon: ANGST WITH THE FAM WANTING MORE ANSWERS FROM THE DOC BUT SHE JUST HIDES IN THE TARDIS AND THEY CANT FIND HER)
> 
> I said I was gonna run with this and I MEANT IT. 
> 
> This is kinda sad, but so is the end of Spyfall pt 2. Seriously, that last scene was everything I've been hoping for but god it HURT

“Can we visit your home?” 

You can tell so much about someone through their smile. 

“Another time.” 

Especially if you’ve spent a lot of time with them. 

The Doctor tends to smile with her whole body. That kid-in-a-candy-store grin that crinkles the space around her eyes, lifts her shoulders into a giddy shrug because she’s always so _excited._ An overflowing optimism that’s unconsolable, always shining hopeful light into the hearts of the afraid. Head always held high. The embodiment of sunshine, radiating rays of hope. 

Ever since defeating the Kasaavin, she’s been the polar opposite.

Ever since defeating the Kasaavin, her smiles haven’t quite reached her eyes. The little bit she has spoken has been purely informative; time periods, surface details regarding the planet of the day. Only ever enough to keep them at the base level of satisfaction, always brief and quick, as if she’s avoiding the sound of her own voice. 

Ever since defeating the Kasaavin, Barton, and _the Master_ , she hasn’t been alright. 

They let it go on for about five days. She’s not a child, she doesn’t need someone hovering over her shoulder to ask if she’s okay when she’s clearly not. If she wanted to talk to them, she would have. 

But eventually, they can’t take it anymore. A bit of the reasoning is selfish, to ease the aches in their own hearts at seeing her so downtrodden; like she’s carrying the weight of the entire universe on her back. 

But moreso, beyond that, stronger than that, they just need to know that she’s gonna be okay. 

The snippet of her past that they’re told is enough to ease a bit of the burning wonder. Helps them feel a little more at ease, like they’re better equipped to support her through whatever burdens she can’t seem to shake. 

But there’s something else, something big, that she’s definitely not telling them. 

Almost definitely something to do with her home, judging by the smile that doesn’t even touch her eyes when Yaz asks if they can visit. The pause that comes first, and the way her emotionally shielding walls become transparent once again.

Even when she turns to walk away, face hidden, it's apparent.

The Doctor runs up the staircase only to pause at the top, and the others watch in hope that she turns back to them. She doesn’t. One long stride carries her into the corridor and by the time the door shuts behind her, footsteps can no longer be heard. 

The console room is far too quiet without her in it. 

“Something’s wrong.” Graham says first, hands in pockets, staring at the empty space of the stairs. 

“Really, Sherlock?” Ryan mocks, but the usual gusto behind his banter is lacking. 

“She’s not alright.” Yaz says quietly, in full realization, and pulls her eyes away from the staircase to glance at the others, uncertain. “Should we go after her?” 

“She’s not a kid crying out for attention.” Graham points out. “She definitely wants to be left alone.” 

This is new territory. The Doctor’s never like this. 

“Let’s give her a bit, probably.” Ryan shrugs. “See how she’s doing when she shows up again.” 

Yaz and Graham nod in unsure, relenting agreement. 

The TARDIS is parked outside of Yaz’s flat, a peak out the window confirms. “Fancy a cuppa in the meantime?” She offers, half-hearted. Graham nods with a distracted smile, and Ryan hums a careless _sure_. 

* * *

The night sky is clouded, stars unseen and only a tease of the moon and lamps lining the streets guiding Yaz, Ryan and Graham’s way through the dark. 

“At least she hasn’t run off on us.” Graham muses, looking up into the dim glow of the _Police Box_ sign. 

“She wouldn’t do that.” Yaz says confidently, one hand grasping the handle of a fresh, steaming cup of tea while her other pushes open the TARDIS door. 

She can’t think of a single time she’s ever entered the console room to find it empty. The Doctor’s always tinkering, repairing, or breaking something. More than once she's walked into a burst of sparks when their sudden presence causes the Doctor’s energetic hands to slip. One time the console was on fire, and Yaz walked in to see the Doctor with a manic, unapologetic grin as her hands waved exuberantly to clear the smoke.

That reckless, unpredictable energy is what Yaz subconsciously stamped the aura of console room with. It’s a space filled with life. 

Ryan shuts the door behind them, and the console room is silent. Empty, and lacking it’s usual sense of home. 

“Is she still back there?” Ryan nods to the corridor, a worried note finding it’s way into his voice. 

Yaz walks a fruitless circle around the console in search, careful not to let the tea spill over as she moves. “She must be.” 

Even the TARDIS doesn’t seem like itself. The Doctor has made a couple off-handed comments in the past in regards to her ship being sentient, but Yaz never took her too seriously until now. The warm orange that illuminates the room is toned down, darker, feeling more like a shadow than a source of light. The humming beneath her feet is different - less mechanic, more living. Lower, undeniably sad, and leaving Yaz heavy-hearted.

The three of them exchange a look of deep, increased concern and make an uneducated decision. 

“Four hours is enough.” Graham concludes. “Let’s go find her.”

The corridor at the top of the staircase stretches far deeper than they expected. Yaz personally had never ventured farther than the kitchen, or her own bedroom. Sometimes one was closer than the other, she suspected, though always talked herself out of the seemingly impossible idea. Never before had she braved the unknown further depths of the corridors because, according to the Doctor, they’re infinite. Personally, Yaz doesn’t want to get lost in infinity. 

There’s no trace of that fear now, though. When the corridor eventually splits off into two directions, Yaz feels no apprehension. 

“Me and Graham go this way, you try that way?” Ryan suggests with a nod to the fork on the right.

“Yeah.” She’s already continuing forward. “Holler if you find her?” 

Graham gives a thumbs-up as he and Ryan disappear in the other direction, and Yaz braves the unfamiliar territory alone. 

It’s dark in this portion of the TARDIS, she realizes. Dark enough that she places one hand on the wall as she walks, fingertips brushing in passing to guide herself around twists and turns. A few steps further lead to pitch blackness, but only for a brief stretch. 

Yaz walks on as the darkness begins to meld with a cold blue that increases the further into the depths she finds herself. It illuminates the halls enough for her to see where she’s going, but lacks vibrance, lacks the warmth and comfort Yaz has grown so accustomed to in her time on board. Weak, and impossibly sad. A reflection of the crumpled form she finds when she rounds a corner. 

The Doctor’s just… sitting there. Unmoving, uncaring - or perhaps unaware of Yaz’s presence, so she approaches slow. 

Head hung uncharacteristically low, one knee is drawn close to her chest so her hand can rest limply on top of it, and Yaz doesn’t miss how the other curls into a tight, uncomfortable fist once there are mere inches separating them. 

That, and the fact that she’s obviously made quite the effort to hide herself away gives Yaz pause. The last thing she wants to do is push her away.

“Do you want to be alone?” She asks in a soft voice that still feels too loud in this setting. The Doctor doesn’t answer, and even in the low light Yaz can see an almost imperceptible flinch at the word. _Alone._ It makes her shoulders stiffen and strains the tendons in her neck. Yaz takes note, and files it away for another time. 

She closes the gap between them and presses her back to the wall, slides down until she’s seated at the Doctor’s side. “I’m trusting you to tell me to piss off if I need to.” Yaz fills the silence. “But since you aren’t, I’m gonna keep you company. Tea?” She raises the cup to the Doctor’s eye level, who spares it a glance and nothing more. 

Yaz sighs quietly and takes the liberty to push the cup of tea into the Doctor’s hand. It’s still steaming, the cup piping hot save for the handle, but the Doctor curls her hand around the heat regardless. Either unaffected, or uncaring. 

“Have you been sitting here this whole time?” There’s only a small space between them, and Yaz finds herself resisting the urge to pull her into an embrace. 

The Doctor’s hand atop her knee closes shakily, and she glides pressure over her knuckles with her thumb. Wordless. 

“We’re worried about you.” Yaz admits, and the Doctor turns her head so that her face is hidden. “The boys are wandering around god knows where looking for you.” 

“I’m fine.” She speaks finally, in a melancholy voice so far from her own. 

The last time she said those words it wasn’t convincing either, but at least then she’d tried. 

“You’re obviously not.” Yaz challenges, but it lacks drive. Now isn’t the time. “But we won’t push.” 

Silence fills the cold atmosphere again and Yaz drops her gaze to the floor to provide a form of privacy. She asks again, because she really doesn’t know. “Do you want to be alone?” 

The Doctor’s fingers curl tighter around the mug in her right hand, and in the quiet Yaz can hear her breath hitch, hear her try swallow against a lump in her throat. Her gaze flickers back to stare straight ahead with a clenched jaw, a tense crease at her brow. Seeing something invisible. Reliving something that Yaz can’t identify, and when she answers, Yaz gets the feeling it’s out of context.

Her voice shakes.

“ _No._ ”

There’s something broken, pained and unseen in the single word. 

Suddenly, Yaz can hear the sound of Ryan and Graham calling her name in search. She calls back in less than a shout, making her presence known, and they round the corner in a matter of seconds. “We can’t find... oh.”

The Doctor bows her head just enough that her hair becomes a wall to hide behind, and she draws her untouched cup of tea close to her chest. Lets it’s warmth seep into her hearts.

Graham and Ryan look down at the two of them, hovering at an unsure distance. 

“Alright?” Graham holds Yaz’s eye, tentative and concerned. 

Yaz’s gaze wanders back to the Doctor, crumpled and closed off as she is, considering. And instead of responding with the obvious, she gestures with a tilt of her head for the boys to come and sit. 

The Doctor doesn’t react when Graham and Ryan fill the space at her right, or acknowledge their presence in any way. 

But still, she doesn’t tell them to leave, so they accept the quiet as her blessing. 

Graham and Ryan find themselves looking at her, looking away, and doing it again. The careful distance she’s kept herself at for the past few days is nothing in contrast to the broken silence that fills the halls. 

There are still so many questions. Explanations they _need_ to hear, sooner or later. She can’t keep them in the dark forever - not when whatever darkness she’s hiding from them is affecting her like _this,_ and snippets are popping up in the form of old friends and trying to destroy the entirety of humanity.

But now isn’t the time. As much as the curiosity burns, the time is up to her. 

Time Lord, and all.

It’s quite the bombastic title, but it fits.

Now that she’s convinced she won’t scare her off, Yaz closes the remaining gap between her and the Doctor enough for their shoulders to touch. She feels like someway, somehow, by doing so, she’ll be able to take on a fraction of her burdens. Yaz knows she can’t take the pain away, but maybe she could ease the weight if the Doctor would permit it - and she has a feeling that that’s very unlikely.

 _What happened?_ The empathetic voice of her subconscious demands to know.

 _Another time._ A wiser, gentler one combats. 

They sit there for a while. No one’s keeping track of the minutes because despite everything, it’s not uncomfortable. Not necessarily comfortable though, either, seeing your best mate in such a bad way, but it’s correct. The right call, because no - she _doesn’t_ want to be alone.

So why hide herself away? 

Yaz settles a little closer at the Doctor’s side when she feels tension against her arm begin to ease, and shaky breaths slow to steadiness. A fist uncurls itself, and she absentmindedly wipes the sweat from her palm onto her trousers. 

Finally, the Doctor brings the cup of tea to her lips, and Yaz feels a sense of relief carry through her entire body at the tiny action alone. 

“This is cold.” The Doctor frowns, with an exhausted impersonation of her usual disgruntled scrunch as she swirls the liquid around, lost in it’s movement.

“Well yeah, tea does that when it sits for half an hour.” Ryan jabs from her right, lighthearted and a bit more relaxed.

Eyes fixed on her tea, the Doctor smiles. Just a tad, barely halfway, but it’s better than nothing. 

“What’s with the lights?” The heaviness to the atmosphere continues to ebb, and Graham glances around at the chilling blue that bathes the walls and their inhabitants.

The Doctor lowers her cup to the floor so that it sits between her legs, forgotten. “The TARDIS is alive, you know.”

“Didn’t really believe you before, but -” Yaz looks up. “I’m getting that sense today.” 

The Doctor’s eyes flutter to the space above them, filled with a fondness Yaz can’t comprehend. Those heavy eyes slowly shut, and she rests her head back against the wall with a thud. A deep inhale, a steady exhale, and her features relax. Soothed by an invisible embrace. “She’s… feeling with me.” Her eyes are open and she’s gliding over the confession before she can be asked to elaborate. “That or she’s mocking me. Hard to say, really.”

They can clearly see through walls she’s regained the strength to hold up, but now isn’t the time. 

“You okay?” Yaz asks simply, needing at least a touch of reassurance that she’ll find light in the Doctor’s eyes again. Doesn’t have to be today, or tomorrow, but Yaz is selfishly craving the sunshine. 

“Yeah.” The Doctor whispers, a little less broken, a little more convincing. 

They still don’t believe her, but it’s a start. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and send me some prompts! Help me process this damn series!! Chibbs is really coming for my HEART THIS YEAR


	3. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s so much easier not to talk about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kays_Canvas who requested: ‘Something malfunctions in the TARDIS and they learn what happened when they were separated during Spyfall (the kneeling, for instance) because it telepathically accesses the Doctor's memories to play on the screen.’
> 
> I also squeezed in a couple of your other prompts after twisting them just a teeny tiny bit to fit into what I had in mind for this chapter :)

“Don’t call it cheating, I’m not cheating.” 

A switch on the console flips into the _off_ position on it’s own accord, a shadow casts over the console room as the TARDIS whirs a protest to it’s sole inhabitant. 

“I just need to open the telepathic circuits for a _moment._ Won’t hurt, promise!” 

The shadow deepens, seems to close around her in what’s now much more of a warning. 

“I need your help.” The Doctor hangs over the controls, shoulders hunched and a confession so ridden with emotional exhaustion that her timeless ship adapts the concept of pity. The console room reassumes it’s comforting glow, but the switch remains locked in place. “I can’t… calm my head down. Can’t think in a straight line anymore.” Her voice has a tight edge to it, an _on the brink_ warning even to her own ears. “I just… need you to do some sorting out for me. Help me focus.” 

A frustrated whir sending vibrations shooting up her legs. _This is cheating._

“Just a nudge.” The ache in her chest only builds with every breath, and if she doesn’t do something about it soon she just might snap in half. 

The room darkens again, only for a moment before normalizing. 

“I’m not coping.” She whispers, darkly and in barely a whisper as if it’s a secret they’ll take to their graves. “Please, love. The fam will be up soon - they’re asking too many questions, and I’ve started being rude again. I thought I wasn’t rude this time ‘round.” 

_The fam._ The image of her friends is shoved into every nook of her mind, a warm sensation spreading through her chest. 

_So answer them._

“I can’t.” The Doctor’s hands curl into adamant fists that press into the console, cushioning her forehead as she drops it there, _exhausted._ “Just shift some things around for me. I don’t need to forget, I just need to be able to think about _anything else._ ”

She hates the way her voice cracks like she’s about to cry. She’s in a constant state of that tipping point; right on the edge, never falling over, but never climbing back up. She can’t get a grip. And even with all of time and space, she doesn’t have time to fall. 

“Please?” The Doctor asks again, a little softer, a little sweeter, head tipped to one side. 

Something sentimental snaps in her ship’s synapsis, and the switch on the console is released. 

“You old softie.”

The Doctor pushes herself away from the console to lean into one of it’s many surrounding crystal pillars, palm pressed fondly against it’s dips and ridges and familiar lively pulse. She closes her eyes, leans closer into the contact, breathes out something heavy and so very, very nearly, _calm_. 

The TARDIS enters her mind with warm tendrils of comfort wrapping around the darkest corners of her thoughts and filtering in light through whatever gaps can be found. The Doctor can feel doors all but closing, a sliver of space still allowing her to peer through to the other side, but her eyes now have the means to look somewhere else. Anywhere else. She draws them away from the burning pyres of the Citadel and rests them on the kind image of her friends’ excited smiles instead. It leaves her with a much gentler pit-of-stomach sensation. 

The TARDIS’s prodding seems to falter for a moment, though, and the Doctor can see the doors of her subconscious being pried open wide. 

“No, no, no.” Her free hand rises to dig against her temple in protest when flames build behind her eyes and overpowering smoke fills her senses. “No, the _opposite_ of that!” 

Echoes of the terrified wails of Gallifreyan children flood her ears, and it makes her choke. 

“No - what are you doing?”

The assaulting image flashes away like she’s changed the channel and a sickening replacement finds it’s spot at the forefront of her mind. 

“ _Kneel.”_

The sensation of power being stripped away like a skin absolutely floods her being, and she cringes. Bows in on herself a bit, face scrunched in attempt to rid herself of the memory that only morphs into another. 

The Master’s hand is around her throat, holding her at his mercy at impossible heights. Her life in the palm of his hand. No control. 

A flash, and she’s on the TARDIS staircase, staring hopelessly into the holographic eyes of her oldest friend as he reveals that their entire existence is built on… a lie? 

A lie, big enough and _maddening_ enough, that it led him to… 

And the cycle of images repeats. 

“Why… why are you-” The Doctor opens her eyes in hopes that some sort of visual distraction might break the loop, grant her an exit, but she sees nothing but the outlines of flames.

“ _Enough_ .” She tightens her jaw and balls her fists and _slams_ all her mental doors shut, the bang reverberating through her skull. The images dissipate, and the Doctor impatiently waits for her surroundings to come into focus. 

She’s on the floor, back still against the crystal pillar but connection severed completely, and she’s no longer alone. 

The fam are on the opposite side of the console, thankfully not looking at her, eyes fixed on the waves of steam homing a blank display. The Doctor doesn’t give them a second thought, a bit preoccupied with being downright _offended_. 

“Out of all the rude things you’ve done, including but _not limited to_ ‘miscalculations’ that have cost me a regeneration, this made Top 7. Easy.” She gripes to the ceiling, fingertips rubbing her temple. 

Well, now they’re looking at her. She feels it before she sees it; the incoming questions, in the form of a wave of full body anxiety. Skin set alight. 

“What?” The Doctor drops her gaze to meet theirs, tries to process the concoction of emotions scribbled on their faces but there’s just so many and she _can’t tell them apart_.

“What did we just see?” Graham asks, in a tone almost as confusing as his expression. 

Her stomach drops as the pieces come together. “Oh.” 

“Yep.” Ryan folds his arms unsurely. 

“Did you just see…” 

“Inside your head? Broadcast all over the displays?” Yaz’s wobbly expression falters and shifts, like she doesn’t know how to feel, but her tone is easily identifiable as soft. Dawning. “Yeah.” 

The Doctor raises a glare to the ceiling as she stands, all but twitching with betrayal. “ _Top 3._ ” She corrects, balling her fists. “You hear me? _Top 3._ ”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Yaz admits. “Doctor, you’re not alright.” 

“I’m fine, Yaz.” She brushes herself off, physically and figuratively. 

“What’s the point of lying now?” Ryan’s voice holds an edge. “We’ve just seen…” 

“Everything. Just about.” Graham pales. “At least I hope there’s nothing else terrible rattling about in that head of yours.” 

Her hands fidget at her sides, gaze not meeting theirs. 

“Was that… your home that we saw?” 

Yaz speaks so gently, so carefully, like the Doctor’s a spooked stray being offered a lifeline. 

She still nearly combusts. 

It’s so much easier not to talk about things. 

“I take it that’s a yes.” Graham’s words are solemn. Sympathetic. 

The Doctor crawls with the sudden need to be alone. To hide, and stay hidden at the furthest corner of the universe if it’ll _get_ _her_ _out of this conversation._

They’re maintaining a respectful distance from her, at least. She’s not in the mood to be crowded. 

“We don’t want to push you, Doc.” Graham starts. “But this is serious. You can’t keep something like this bottled up.”

“Yeah, you’ve not been yourself for weeks now.” Ryan adds. “Bit snippy.” 

_Well excuse me for being snippy then._ She _snips_ to herself - and sighs. Self pity is a default when your entire species is killed for a second time and your perspective on your existence is warped and questioned immeasurably, but maybe she’s been reveling in the darkness a bit too long. 

Still, she can’t bring the already in-the-open confession to her lips. 

_My people are dead._

_My planet is destroyed._

_My life is a lie_ … _what do I do?_

They don’t hold the answers, so why waste time darkening moments that could be filled with light? 

She’s about to lunge to the console and fling them off to _Kantarvo, the universe’s second most highly ranked library planet. She’s banned from the first-_ she’ll explain, and make them laugh with an anecdote about a very poorly planned heist with Robert Frost. 

But something about the intensity in their joint, focused gaze roots her to the spot. Communicates their severity. 

Stubborn, this lot. But that’s probably what she needs. 

Still, she silently curses the TARDIS for taking matters into her own hands, because that _really_ wasn’t cool. 

And she can’t figure out which words to start with. Ryan seems to pick up on that. 

“Can you tell us more about the Master, at least?” 

Not an easy answer, but yeah, technically she can. 

“Yes, _and_ ,” Graham quipps nervously. “if he’s likely to be turning back up? ‘Cause he struck me as a bad penny.” 

A bad penny indeed. 

“He’s my oldest enemy.” The Doctor shrugs on an uncertain note, hands in pockets. “Bit insane. Sometimes more insane than others.” She winces. “He really did fall hard off the wagon this go round, though.” 

“He seems to have a thing for gettin’ one over on you.” Yaz says, unsure of continuing forward, but braving the risk nonetheless. “Did he have anything to do with…” 

The Doctor dips her head, digs her nails into her palm as the wave of fight or flight washes over her. She longs to give into flight. 

“He’s one of your lot, though, isn’t he?” Graham wonders. “He… killed his own people?” 

“Why would he do something like that?” Ryan asks, and the Doctor shrivels. 

“Revenge.” For what? She doesn’t know. The lie of the Timeless Child, whatever that is. It’s still just out of reach in the corners of her memory. “Or he was trying to get my attention. He does that.” 

“Why?” Yaz tilts her head, and that’s a much more difficult answer. 

“I-” She doesn’t even know where to begin. “It’s complicated.” 

“I don’t doubt that.” Yaz chuckles, no heart behind it. Her eyes are beseeching, yearning for explanation, but the Doctor just _can’t._

“That’s enough for today.” She bounds up to the console punches in the coordinates for Kantarvo, her companions’ gazes burning a hole into the back of her coat. She does her best to ignore it. 

They don’t seem to know what to say; a feeling she’s familiar with. And as she begins to rattle off her only slightly exaggerated tales of escapades with Robert Frost, her friends let it happen. Listen with weak interest, backing off for now, and she’s grateful. Her skin stops crawling with anxiety and she comes back into her body, a bit. She didn’t realize she fled it in the first place. 

It’s so much easier not to talk about things. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Let me know if there’s anything based off of/around Orphan 55 that you want to see me write. That ep was wild


	4. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor doesn't figure out quickly enough that the Dregs can replenish her oxygen supply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thewinterunicorn, Lady, and i'm pretty sure someone else at some point requested a fic where the Doctor doesn't get her o2 canister replenished in Orphan 55. I hope all the thirteen whumpers on ao3 take this into their own hands too because I want to READ that shit going down as much as I had fun writing it!! 
> 
> Also, very very vague references to suicidal tendencies here, take note if that's something that doesn't sit right with you. The Doctor's just a tiny bit bready2die

“These stairs should take us back to Tranquility.”

“Wait. Where’s the Doc?”

* * *

_ Oxygen supply level 1%. You must find breathable air immediately. _

Quite the persistent o2 canister.

_ Oxygen supply level 1%. Immediate action is required.  _

“Oh, do shut up.” 

The Doctor punches a button on her wrist with a gloved fingertip, to no avail. 

_ Find breathable air. Failure to do so will result in threat to life.  _

Got that, thanks. “I just… need to understand.” She pushes through the dark, stumbling slightly, a gasp on her lips as her chest tightens and her hearts stutter. “I need to check…” There’s got to be at least  _ one  _ Dreg standing dormant somewhere in these tunnels. Should be plenty if Kane was right. The Doctor falters over her own feet, rebalances, and homes in on the stilled figure about another seven paces away. 

She should probably join the others on their journey up top while she’s still got the strength. At the very least, allow her respiratory bypass to kick in and buy herself a couple more minutes. Even a few extra  _ seconds _ would be enough to take a peek in the Dreg’s memory and make it back to replenish her oxygen before she passes out. Probably. 

Three paces away from it now, and the Doctor stumbles; completely wrung dry in more ways than one.

Really, she can’t be bothered. 

All sense of urgency lost and replaced with cotton in her head and stars in her vision, the Doctor falls unconscious, alone. 

Very nearly. 

* * *

Yaz’s eyes dart everywhere at once, tightening a fist around the staircase railing when she doesn’t see the Doctor among their group. 

It’s not easy keeping track of this many people, and it’s a tad irritating that the Doctor would wander off with this knowledge. 

“We can’t leave her.” Yaz states the obvious, pushing the words out as quickly as she can because they need to  _ move.  _ She grabs Graham’s shoulder as she shoves the tarp aside, pulling him with her through the gap. “You three go ahead, we’ll be right behind you.” 

Neither of them stop to see if Kane, Nevi or Silas follow her order, but Yaz hears booted soles hitting the stairs like a stampede, ascending to safety. 

“Where could she even have gone?” Graham’s frustrated mutters drown under a cacophony of bellowing growls that bounce off the walls, one in particular much closer than the rest.

“Graham.” Yaz is grabbing his shoulder again, spinning him in the proper direction and propelling him there all at once before she bounds ahead on much more agile feet. 

Towards where the Doctor is suspended mid air by a clawed, vicious grip around her throat. Her hands are limp at her sides, unable to fight back, head hanging forward in unconscious bliss. 

It takes Yaz about three seconds to reach them, and in that time she’s running purely off of fact-based instinct. If the Doctor’s deprived of oxygen for too much longer, she’ll die. Regenerate. Whatever it is she does.

Yaz  _ slams  _ her shoulder into the Dreg, not really thinking about it, but it works - just about. It’s grip relaxes and it staggers back enough for the Doctor to slide out and down, landing gracelessly on the ground and making no move to get up. 

Graham, head ducked (as if it’ll do him any good), dashes into the scene to hook his arms under the Doctor’s and drag her away. “Yaz, let’s go!”

Yaz is still working on scrambling to her feet, trying to propel herself backwards and tripping over her own feet in a rush, because suddenly there’s  _ several _ Dregs. Looming silhouettes in the dark, stalking towards their prey with unhinged confidence. 

She’s too shocked to move, for a moment. Wasting time trying to figure out how they’re going to drag the Doctor out of here before they catch up instead of helping Graham get on with the job of doing so - then there are laser bolts ripping past her ears and over her head, stalling the Dregs.

Yaz ducks when she twists around to see Kane, who finds full potential in the phrase  _ guns blazing.  _ There’s a tired snarl on her face as she lets the Dregs absolutely have it.

“Get her back up to the spa.” She bites, taking place at the front line. “I’ll hold them back.” 

Yaz has half a mind to insist Kane retreats alongside them, but this is the Doctor’s best chance. 

She grabs the Doctor’s ankles while Graham finds a grip under her arms, and they lift her between them, a joke about her being more dense than she looks dying in the middle of grunts and groans. 

When they reach the staircase, Yaz and Graham’s eyes wander upward with a new perspective. 

“How are we meant to get her up all those?” Graham sags, lowering the Doctor’s body to the ground with already shaky arms hands on his lower back as he stretches. 

Yaz takes a moment,  _ just a moment  _ to assess the damage, and eases the Doctor down only to crouch at her side. “Is she even breathing?” 

Graham drops to one knee and holds the back of his hand above her nose, brow pinched in concentration. “Hardly.” He cranes his neck to look up again after examining the oxygen canisters on their wrists. “Reckon the air’s a lot cleaner up there. Our thingies have refilled but she’s probably not gonna wake up until she’s got some proper fresh air.” 

Yaz spares just a second longer to wrap her fingers around the Doctor’s wrist. “Her hearts are really, really trying, but she’s been out for too long.” She and Graham jolt out of their moment’s recuperation when a growl sounds from mere paces behind them. They don’t waste time turning around to find what they know is growing closer.

“Help me.” Yaz says instead, bracing herself on her knees and shoving her arms under the Doctor’s back to lift her into a slumped position against Yaz’s side. “I can carry her, just help me get her over my shoulders.” 

“Yaz, that’s a lot of stairs-” 

“Graham,  _ help me. _ ”

He puffs out an anxious breath and crouches down in a hurry, arms around the Doctor’s middle as he hoists her high enough for Yaz to slip into position. 

She stands with the Doctor draped over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, one hand securing an arm and a leg in place while the other braces for a steadying hold on the railing.

Yaz starts ascending the stairs, efforted grunts on her lips with every step, and Graham puts a hand on her back just in case the Doctor’s weight tips her backwards. 

The Dregs are behind them now, at the bottom of the stairs, watching them for a moment as if they’re giving their prey a head start. Sprinkling some excitement into a rather lackluster chase. They could tear them to shreds within seconds if they wanted to, but perhaps there’s not enough satisfaction in victory that comes too quick.

“You alright, love?” Graham keeps a steadying hand on Yaz’s back as she trips, catching herself with a tight grip on the rail and a tighter one protectively holding the Doctor’s arm. 

Vaguely, in passing, Yaz wonders how they’d have managed to solve this particular hiccup if she hadn’t had police training to tap into - because it’s their saving grace, at the moment. A mindset of urgency, a clear drive, a determination to do  _ whatever  _ has to be done to keep the head count from dropping any lower than it already has. Her legs  _ burn,  _ so much that she thinks they might buckle beneath hers and the Doctor’s weight, but they hold out. She has resilience training to thank for that. 

She can’t fall. It’s simply not an option, so she won’t. 

She doesn’t waste her own naturally dwindling oxygen supply by replying to Graham but soon, they’ve reached the top, and Yaz topples through the gap in the wall in a flurry of straining limbs and groans as they hit the floor.

Graham drags the Doctor off of Yaz while she’s straining to catch her breath, hand on her chest in attempt to measure out controlled inhales and exhales. “Barricade that hole.” She points to it in a hurry. “Nevi and Silas.  _ Quickly. _ ” 

“What happened to her?” Silas asks, straining alongside his father and Graham to lift a barrier and hold it in place. 

“Ran out of oxygen.” Graham braces his shoulder against the wall when he can hear Dregs begin to pile up on the other side. “Yaz, how’s she doing?” 

She allows herself one more really deep breath before rolling over, grabbing the Doctor’s shoulders and hoisting her into an upright position slumped against the wall. In Yaz’s attempt to help her breathe easier, the Doctor’s barely there breath hitches, and morphs into a long wheeze. 

“Hey, hey, you with me?” Yaz grabs her wrist again, counting the beats of weak twin hearts as they struggle to pump blood through the Doctor’s veins. 

She coughs then, nearly toppling forward if it weren’t for Yaz’s hand on her chest, steadying and soothing. 

“I’d say give yourself a minute - but I think we’re about to have to run. Graham?” Yaz keeps her hold on the Doctor, tight and unwavering as she twists back to get a look at the others. 

“Definitely can’t hold this forever.” He, Nevi and Silas falter against a powerful force from the other side of the wall, desperate to get in. “Can she stand?” 

“Doctor?” Yaz moves into her field of view, but her eyes are closed, lines at her brow prominent and drawn tight as she tries to suck in a full breath. “What do you think?” 

“Hm?” She’s disoriented, Yaz can clearly tell, as her eyes crack open a fraction and fail to focus at all. 

“Can you stand?” Yaz asks with a strong edge of exigency, shaking the Doctor’s shoulder when her eyes flutter dangerously. “Doctor!”

“Mm.” She lifts her swimming head enough to get her momentum going, just a bit, drawing one foot close and bracing against it to stand. She hardly budges. 

“Yaz, we’ve gotta leg it.” Graham calls, face red and energy dwindling.

Yaz swallows down and pushes back the fatigued ache of her own legs, arms,  _ everything,  _ and pulls the Doctor’s arm over her shoulders, wraps one of her own around her friend’s waist, and stands, forcing the Doctor to stand as well. Her boots shuffle against the floor for purchase and don’t quite find it, her head drops against Yaz’s shoulder, lost in a dying attempt to catch her breath. 

Still, Yaz tightens her own grip, and the response she gets of the Doctor fisting her hand in the material of Yaz’s coat is weak, but a response nonetheless. 

“On three.” Graham says to Nevi, Silas, then holds Yaz’s eye for a moment longer. “One, two-” 

“Three.” The Doctor mutters breathlessly, barely there and holding on with everything she has. Clearly, distantly registering the need to move, and staring at her legs as if it’ll give them a boost. 

Yaz solely propels the two of them forward with one monumental step, and she’s already struggling under the Doctor’s weight. Before either of them can drop, Graham’s at the Doctor’s other side, and the burden is split in two. 

“Go, go,  _ go! _ ” The Doctor is basically hanging between them, chest heaving, trying to use her legs but only managing to make herself heavier.

They drag her out the door and Silas seals it behind them, Nevi taking the reins on finding a safe location with everyone else being a tad preoccupied. 

They find themselves back in the ‘linen cupboard’ that’s everything but, and Yaz assists Graham in easing the Doctor down to the floor. 

“Keep her upright.” Yaz says, propping the Doctor up with her back against a wall and leaving Graham to keep her from falling over. “Between the two of you-” she starts, a bit out of breath, pointing to Nevi and Silas with both hands. “Do you think you can fix the teleport? You’re mechanics, right?” 

“I don’t see how we could, honestly.” Nevi admits sheepishly. “We would need to convert-” 

“We have to get out of here.” Yaz protests.

“-I know how.” Silas butts in, impatiently, giving his dad the sort of eyeroll that usually goes the other way around at that age. He aims his words at Yaz after that, with a confidence and maturity very well hidden behind his naive face. “We can do it.”

Yaz trusts that tone, gives the boy a sure nod and spins back around, taking a deep breath once the door closes behind her. She, Graham, and the Doctor are left alone. 

A bit of the  _ go go go  _ dies down, and Yaz sighs out as much rigidity as she can. 

“Still need to find Ryan.” She says aloud, more for herself than Graham. He knows. “But we’re okay for a moment.” We can  _ breathe  _ for a moment. 

“Doc, you with us?” Graham is tapping her cheek, trying to rouse her from her still in between state - not quite unconscious but not all there. 

She winces, twists her head away from his hand with a disgruntled frown. “‘m fine.” A cough punctuates the defense. 

Yaz flops down to sit next to them, legs feeling the consequence of their previous efforts. “Breathing easy enough now?” 

“Mhm.” She draws in deeper ones with conscious, considerable effort. The light on her oxygen canister is green again, Yaz notices, and reaches up to adjust the piece on the bridge of the Doctor’s nose to a potentially more secure position, just in case it helps. 

“You know, if you’d have given us a shout back there when you got into some trouble we would have heard you.” Graham brings to light, shifting away a bit to give the Doctor a curious glance. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

She just closes her eyes on a tired sigh, limbs trying to motivate function into themselves by shifting sluggishly. 

“Eyes open.” Yaz snaps, in a tone just firm enough, just fearful enough, that the Doctor complies without hesitation. 

“I’m awake.” She assures weakly, on a slur, but it’s convincing enough. Less of the latter when she breathes out a half-hearted, overused, “I’m fine.” 

The Doctor’s never appeared so fallible and vulnerable in all the time Yaz has known her. It’s rarely  _ her  _ that they’re worried about, because she’s the one with experience - she knows what she’s doing, she’s the one with the answers. The mother hen, in a strange, non-motherly way. Designated driver, but not in a literal sense. Except, yeah - in a literal sense too. 

She’s usually holding everything together with her own two hands, but for a while now she’s not seemed capable of holding  _ herself  _ together. She’s being reckless, careless, unaware, like her instincts of self-preservation are either in hiding, or simply no longer there. It’s making it worrisome to leave her alone in high-stress situations, and that’s not how things should be.

The Doctor’s not fine, and Yaz keeps finding herself reminded of that fact in new, mildly concerning ways. 

“We need to move.” The Doctor says, voice sounding only a low-level sign of urgency, but she’s bracing to stand anyways. 

Yaz and Graham slide into place at either side of her when she struggles, fails her first attempt, but she’s quick to brush them off, that aura screaming  _ I don’t need your help  _ returning full force, and the switch is worthy of a double-take. 

She physically pushes them away when they get too close, and eventually manages to stand on her own. 

Graham shoots Yaz a side-eyed look of that familiar split between irritation and worry, but she doesn’t reciprocate. 

“Alright?” Yaz asks with a hint of hesitation, gaze fixed on the Doctor as she wavers.

A brisk nod, wordlessly guarded, is all her question is worthy of apparently, and the Doctor’s face is stone-set as she starts out of the room with deflective commands of finding Ryan and Bella.

Yaz frowns at Graham, simply at a loss, and they follow without question.

One of these days, they’ll find out why the stars have vacated her eyes. 

At least they hope so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few prompts stacked up but don't hesitate to send me more!! I am a tad selective and I don't always do them in order, but I'm gonna do my best. I'm really, REALLY immersed in the happenings of this series so I'm writing every chance I get, and rewriting when i realize my half-awake attempts from the night before don't make any sense lmao


	5. A Moment of Stillness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz is afraid to close her eyes. The Doctor can relate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Yaz13fan, who wanted to see Yaz’s emotions tipping past her breaking point and the Doctor comforting her. 
> 
> I tried, I really really tried to solely focus this on Yaz but apparently I have so many feelings about sad doc that before I knew it I had at least a dozen paragraphs of her moody but PROGRESSIVE internal monologue. (It’s still mostly about Yaz though, I think. 50/50, 40/60 at a push)

Yaz doesn’t think she’s ever felt so wrung out. 

There’s a new heaviness to her step, always there, that she can’t seem to shake. A consuming exhaustion, dragging down her eyelids at the first beat of opportunity, a threat to send her into blissless oblivion if she stops, at all, even for a second. 

So, to the best of her human ability, she doesn’t. 

The nightmares are back, and they’ve never been so vivid. Never been so… unsettling. She dreams of the Master, the plane, the Kasaavin realm. She dreams of dying, and she dreams of being dead. Her creative subconscious always finds a way to amplify her experiences into something beyond terrifying and unlike most real-life scenarios, there’s never have a happy ending. 

The dreams leave Yaz with a sick pit of stomach feeling that carries into the days to come. She’s been waking up in a cold sweat, the tail end of a partially suppressed scream on her lips every night, sometimes more than once. As consequence, the word, even the  _ idea  _ of sleep churns her anxiety into something unmanageable, so she tries so,  _ so  _ hard to stay awake. 

It’s at least 48 hours into her stubborn, sleepless binge and Yaz knows, unfortunately, that she can’t do this forever. The exhaustion is leaving her with muddled thoughts, sluggish movements and  _ terrible  _ reaction time. 

Ryan did a backflip into the pool yesterday with his phone in his pocket, ruining it, so Yaz let him borrow hers earlier on when the four split up in search of the ‘The most exquisite mince pie in this corner of the galaxy’ at a market on a planet Yaz has already forgotten the name of. They reside in the console room now, post-pie, satisfied and relaxed. 

“Here you go, Yaz.” Is all the warning Ryan gives before tossing Yaz’s phone in her direction. She doesn’t realize it’s flying towards her until it lands at her feet, toppling dangerously. “Whoops, sorry, I thought you’d catch it.” 

No cracked screen, luckily, she diagnoses as she bends to pick it up, and is hit with a headrush when she stands that nearly sends her toppling. 

Graham’s the only one that doesn’t miss the tiny wobble. “You look wiped, Yaz.” 

She hums an agreement, figuring there’s no use in trying to deflect his comment when she knows she must have some pretty hefty circles under her eyes, to top off everything else. 

“Reckon it’s about that time.” Ryan pushes out through a yawn, rolling his shoulders. “Been a long day.” 

The Doctor, from her place on the opposite end of the console, seems lost in herself. Polishing an overpolished lever with her sleeve, staring intently at it as if the task requires fierce concentration. Her mind, Yaz knows, is somewhere else entirely, paying little to no attention to any of her friends, but that’s the usual as of late. 

“Alright, Yaz?” Graham takes the time to clarify, and it warms her heart. 

“Yeah.” She smiles kindly. “You two get some sleep, I’m not far behind.” 

Graham nods, satisfied, and turns heel to leave. 

“Night, Yaz.” Ryan nods at her. “Night, Doctor.”

“Hm?” The Doctor’s head jerks in his direction, eyes taking longer to catch up. “Oh, goodnight Ryan.”

Yaz flicks through messages on her phone she’s already seen as she debates whether or not she’s tired herself out enough to sleep soundly for just  _ one  _ night. That’s the goal at this point, pretty much. Run from sleep until she can’t run anymore, because by then hopefully she’ll be exhausted enough that the dreams won’t be able to find her. Ideally, she’ll keep that up for as long as it works, but a more sensible part of her mind says she should probably figure something else out. 

“Yaz?” It takes the Doctor a minute to notice she’s still standing there. 

“Yeah?” Yaz looks up at her, a tad disoriented but hoping it doesn’t show. Her head and her limbs and her  _ everything  _ suddenly feel very heavy. 

“You feeling okay?” 

She opens her mouth to reply, a reassuring dismissal ready on her lips -

The Doctor notices she’s losing consciousness before Yaz does. Her eyes flutter, her vision swims, and she faintly sees the Doctor crossing to her side of the console room quicker than she can drop. As soon as her arms catch Yaz around the waist, her words surface. “I’m good.”

“You can’t tell me you’re  _ good  _ when you’re fallin’ asleep on my shoulder.” The Doctor chuckles, but it’s flat and creased with worry. She steadies Yaz against her side with an arm around her shoulders, free hand drawing the sonic from her coat pocket. She scans Yaz head to toe, frowns, uses both arms to hold her friend upright when she feels her start to slip. “Yaz.” 

“Hm?” Yaz manages, putting a good bit of effort into staying on her feet but she allows her eyes to close, her thoughts to drift, because the Doctor’s very very close and something about the proximity is making Yaz feel entirely at ease. 

“This says you haven’t slept in two days.” She can hear the disapproval in the Doctor’s voice, but soft concern still peaks through the cracks. “Do you know how bad that is for you - Yaz!” 

The serenity that Yaz finds in the Doctor’s hold is too comfortable not to entirely sink into, and it’s the final blow allowing unconsciousness to win. 

* * *

The Doctor stumbles a bit with Yaz limp against her side, shifting for a sturdier hold she doesn’t find and resorts to lifting her friend into safe arms. 

She’s out like a light. Not a flutter of her eyelids or the smallest twitch of protest as the Doctor bounces once to lift her higher, and it would be concerning if she didn’t look so peaceful. 

“Humans can’t do the whole not sleeping thing, Yaz.” She chastises, starting up the stairs and into the corridor. “You’re not built for it.” 

The Doctor’s curious to find out just what prompted Yaz’s attempt to steer clear of sleep, though. Humans usually work the other way around - practically living for those eight hours of unconscious bliss, every single night. She can’t imagine having to be still for that long, that frequently, just to be able to function properly. 

She reaches Yaz’s room and nudges the door ajar with her foot, walking carefully inside and lowering her into bed with gentle mindfulness, slow and steady, but almost as soon as she’s let go Yaz’s eyes are drifting open. 

She looks around like she doesn’t know where she is for a moment, brow furrowed as she visibly tries to work out recent events. The Doctor fills in the blanks. 

“You passed out in the console room.” She explains, in the lilt of question, and keeps her voice low in hopes of not jostling her awake more than she already is. “What’s that about, then?” 

Groggy and dazed, Yaz lets out a light groan and starts to swing her legs out of bed. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” The Doctor moves to stand in front of her and places two hands on her shoulders worriedly. “The sonic said you haven’t slept for two days, you need to rest.” 

She opens her mouth in the beginnings of a reply, but only shakes her head sluggishly and tries to push the Doctor’s arms away. 

“Yaz.” It’s unfamiliar on her, this carelessness, and starting to become a bit worrying. “What’s wrong?” 

Her eyes aren’t quite focusing, distant and drooped with fatigue, and she seems to wrestle for a moment with whether or not to answer. 

“Been having nightmares.” She says lowly, but in a casual way that falsely suggests she’s unaffected. “Need a break.” 

The Doctor’s eyes round, soften considerably at the information, and she drops her hands. “Oh, Yaz, I’m sorry.” 

Yaz is shaking her head again halfway through the Doctor’s apology, moving to stand. 

“No, hold on.” The Doctor stops her, hands raised and ready. “Yaz, I mean it, you’ll make yourself ill stayin’ up all the time. There’s a reason your lot sleep every night.” 

“Doctor -”

“- I know.” She swings around to sit on the edge of the bed at Yaz’s side, bending at the waist so she can see her friend’s face. “I know. You want to never close your eyes again so that you don’t have to see the bad things and can just focus on the happy around you, because it’s easier that way, isn’t it? Even when you’re knackered.” She sympathizes. “Being afraid of the dark comes in different shapes and sizes.” 

Yaz isn’t looking at her but she’s obviously listening, head tilted in consideration. “Do you have nightmares, Doctor?” 

The Doctor stalls, and her brain goes blank for a moment. She doesn’t want to lie if she doesn’t have to, but she can’t open that door. Not yet, maybe not ever. 

Yaz nods when the silence remains. “I thought you might.” 

She feels a bit exposed at the recognition, and is quick to glide over it. 

“Why don’t you let me keep you company tonight?” She sets her hands gingerly in her lap, suddenly not sure what to do with them. “I don’t mind.” 

Yaz hums a tired disagreement. “You don’t have to do that, Doctor, I’m not a child.” 

“And I’m not saying you are.” She objects. “But if I’m here I can wake you up if you start having a nightmare, right? Pull you out before it gets proper bad.” 

Yaz’s brow furrows in weary consideration, but she’s not caving yet. 

The Doctor lets out a slow breath of tension she didn’t realize she was holding and one hand fidgets with an oddly urgent need for Yaz to be okay. 

“Please let me help, Yaz.” A bit too much emotion seeps through her voice for the Doctor’s liking, but it gives Yaz pause. 

She looks up at her finally, gaze still and almost challenging, as if she’s about to flip the request on its head. 

But either she decides against it, or finally realizes she’s too exhausted to keep arguing. 

“Okay.” Yaz whispers, gaze dropping away, and the Doctor hopes what she catches in her eye right before she does so isn’t shame. She has  _ nothing  _ to be ashamed of. 

The Doctor nearly sags in relief so deep it’s making her hearts feel a little lighter than they have been recently. She jumps to her feet in an out of place, hyperactive flurry and clasps her hands together. “Right, budge over then.” 

Yaz swings her legs back up on the bed and scoots to make room, and she’s unable to hold back the tiniest of smiles at the sheer endearing nature of the Doctor settling down at her side. She stays on top of the duvet, legs crossed and back against the headboard, clearly not planning on sleeping, but she’s close, and it’s admittedly soothing. Yaz feels like she’s being guarded. 

* * *

The Doctor spends the hours of stillness building contraptions in her head and mentally reciting the entirety of Macbeth, twice, just to refresh her memory, and keep her thoughts from drifting to unwanted regions. 

Yaz is peaceful at her side so far. Snoring quietly, features relaxed and face half buried in her pillow, and the Doctor’s eternally grateful for it. 

She feels her own eyelids starting to grow heavy, sleep calling her like an overbearing mother, but she forces them open, sits up and stretches out her limbs to wake herself up. None of that. No nightmares, not tonight. For either of them. 

It has the potential to be funny, the fact that Yaz just so happens to be pulling one of the Doctor’s signature stunts. She’s an expert at staying awake, at keeping busy, and she’s on a particularly good streak at the moment. She hasn’t slowed down, hasn’t closed her eyes to find flames and screams in  _ ages.  _ She doesn’t even know how long, she’s been too busy. 

In fact, this is the first moment of stillness -  _ proper _ stillness, that the Doctor’s had ever since she and her fam were swept off to MI6, and to her ongoing surprise, it’s not unbearable. She doesn’t fail to note that a keying factor there, probably, is the woman curled up at her side. Safe, and present. 

She forgets how much she needs her friends, sometimes. And they need her too, she can’t forget that either. The Doctor admittedly has, as of late. She’s been a bit lost, out of touch, and out of place. But this is her place, isn’t it? Helping people is what drives her forward, and sometimes saving worlds can happen right at home. 

Yaz rolls from her blissful position on her side to a tensed one on her back, legs sluggishly tangling in the blankets, arms curling around herself as she lets out the tiniest of cries. Almost imperceptible, barely there, but the Doctor’s been waiting for the very signal, and she doesn’t miss a beat. She’s here to help. 

“Yaz, wake up.” She shakes Yaz’s shoulder vigorously and her cry becomes a gasp. She bolts upright with breaths heaving and hands trembling, and again, the Doctor doesn’t waste a moment. 

She touches Yaz lightly on the arm first, making absolutely sure contact won’t just add insult to injury and when she’s not shrugged off, she draws Yaz’s tensed body against her own. 

Almost immediate she sags, not quite relaxed into the Doctor’s hold, but trying to be. Yaz places a hand on her chest as she works to catch her breath, other hand clutching the Doctor’s sleeve to ground herself to reality as they ease back to lay against the headboard as one. 

“I’ve got you. You’re okay.” The Doctor wraps her other arm around Yaz to pull her closer, makes sure she knows she’s safe. Protected. Alive. She drops her cheek against the top of her head, whispering softly into the dark. “You’re safe.” 

That seems to convince half-awake Yaz enough to draw a full breath in, and let it out shakily. She repeats the action a few times, and the Doctor feels her growing heavier against her side. 

“Alright?” The Doctor loosens her hold a bit. 

Yaz hums a sleepy confirmation and a few breaths later, she’s slipped back under. 

The Doctor smiles against the top of her head and closes her eyes, sighs something content, and allows the stillness to return. It’s even less unwelcome than before, and the Doctor finds her eyes growing heavy again, thoughts mulling together. 

She’s feeling very tired all of a sudden, and Yaz is so comfortable and her presence is so  _ comforting _ that the Doctor finds herself drifting off, and doesn’t feel the need to stop it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note, Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror was top tier, don’t @ me 
> 
> Reviews and prompts are always appreciated! I know I’m bad at responding but each one always makes my day. Thanks for reading :)
> 
> side side note, i’m on tumblr (strikingtwelves) and twitter (striking_twelve)


	6. Ding-Dong-Ditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after dropping the fam at home without explanation the Doctor turns back up in need of a helpful hand, and a comfy sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For nonnie, who requested the Doctor showing up barely conscious and in a bad way a while after dropping the fam at home, and them discovering the Master has hurt her. 
> 
> I didn’t go for the old fashion beat down, but there’s a bloody lip in there still because you know,,, it’s a look 
> 
> little plot, lots of whump and family fluff

It’s been thirty-seven days since the Doctor dropped her friends at home. 

She did so without providing reason, or without a good one, rather.  _ “Just need to drop you lot off for a bit. Couple of days - a handful at a push.”  _

They asked her why, and she tumbled into an unprepared explanation. 

_ “I’ve got to check - I’ve got to find - I mean, I’ve got to do some repairs... on a repair planet! Very boring, just piles of cables and energy stabilizers, nothing you’d be interested in.”  _

And of course they wanted to question her, because it was a terrible lie, but questions seem to be more counterproductive than anything as of late. 

Except it’s been more than just a _ ‘bit’ _ , and Graham can’t help but wish they’d taken the risk and questioned her regardless of consequence. 

After the first week passed they started having Yaz over for dinner every other night. She was going a bit stir crazy, Graham and Ryan knew, because they felt the same, and Yaz has the additional strain of an overbearing family to put up with every day. Besides, after all the time spent together as a group it didn’t feel right being separated for too long. It’s hard enough without the Doctor, but Graham started to really miss Yaz’s frequent presence as well. He’s really grown to love that kid like a second grandchild.

“What’s in this? It’s wonderful.” Yaz spoons another mouthful of soup between her lips, looking up at Graham over her bowl. 

“ _ I  _ put cayenne in it.” Ryan interrupts before a Graham can attempt to take credit. “ _ After  _ Graham burnt it.” 

“I was just trying to get it to cook faster.” He argues. “It was takin’ ages, and I was hungry.” 

“And I had to start all over.” Ryan deadpans. “Which only made you  _ more  _ hungry.” 

“Your nan teach you to cook?” Yaz dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 

“Yeah, I was never really into it.” Ryan confesses, not bothering to swallow his mouthful before he speaks. “But she made me learn anyway, and now that she’s gone I don’t mind at all.” He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Kind of like it, actually. Makes me feel close to her.” 

Yaz smiles warmly at the notion and brings the bowl to her lips to slurp up the last bit of her soup before sitting back in her seat, full and satisfied. 

“How’s the family, Yaz?” Graham asks. 

“Annoying.” She chuckles in response, a lighthearted noise that trails off at the end as her demeanor loses it’s ease. Graham can see the return of a familiarly downtrodden look in her eye, and can easily guess what’s crossed her mind. “Do you… think she’s alright?” 

He and Ryan share a look of similar uncertainty, but Graham’s been doing his best to keep team morale high, not verbally give into any potential worst case scenarios even though his mind admittedly drifts to similar places. 

“She’s the Doc. Even if she got herself into a scrap she’ll get out of it just fine, like she always does, right?” Graham tries, but has started to sense his own optimism slipping with every passing day. They’ve covered just about every base of perspective these past few weeks. Going from confusion, to mild irritation, to  _ major _ irritation, to personal offense - to plain and simple concern. 

Yeah, it’s not right that she dropped them off with no explanation, like children abandoned at daycare who, for all they know, think their mother is never coming back to pick them up. But that sense of family and companionship is a strong one, a sturdy one, and a bit of an emotional one. Graham’s worried, they all are, but they rarely say it out loud. Hope is all they have at the moment, even if it’s getting harder to hang onto. 

“You know how the TARDIS gets.” Ryan speaks nonchalantly like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Yaz. “Not very accurate most of the time. She probably meant to come back when she said and just got something wrong.” 

Yaz considers, but this doesn’t seem to make her feel any better. “Well if that’s the case, she could just as easily show up years from now, couldn’t she?” 

Ryan and Graham stall as they mull the possibility over, and the idea of not seeing the Doctor for years leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Then again, better than not seeing her at all. 

The sound of the shrubs directly outside of Graham’s window scraping up against the glass prompts everyone to look up. 

“Did you hear something?” Ryan holds his spoon readied like a weapon, frozen. 

“Probably those kids gettin’ into my flowers again.” Graham grumbles, already pushing his chair away from the table and standing, a good, well rehearsed  _ telling off  _ very much on the cards, and readied behind his lips. 

He opens the door and steps into the front yard, already fully prepared to properly chase these pesky nuisances away if he has to. 

“Go on, you lot! This ain’t no Mother’s Day shop!” He skirts the side of his house, eyeing the shrubs with a watchful eye for any sign of tampering and coming to a dead halt when he sees a familiar pair of boots peaking out from between the brambles. “Doc?” 

One booted foot shifts sluggishly and when Graham nears, his heart sinks, and for an instant he’s struck still

She’s in a right state, and Graham tries to shove the pointy branches of two neighboring bushes aside to clear a path. The Doctor’s passed out at their junction, sticks digging into her sides and dried leaves tangled in her mess of hair. 

“Doc.” Graham’s voice softens several notches as he creates a space to crouch next to her knees, leaning forward on stiff limbs to swipe away the disheveled hair hiding her face from view. 

There’s dried blood streaked across her face, her bottom lip is busted and her expression is contorted into an uncomfortable frown. She looks like she’s been beaten up, just about, but when Graham’s eyes drop to examine her hands he finds her knuckles unscathed, and no implication that if she was in a fight, she made any attempt to fight back. 

“Ryan, Yaz!” He calls over his shoulder, not sure how he’s meant to pull her deadweight up without straining his back. His eyes dart back to her face when he hears a low, pained groan. 

“Graham?” Her lips hardly part and her eyes don’t open until Graham lays a confirming hand on her forearm. Even then, it’s barely a squint, an act akin to that of early-morning grogginess, as well as a contributing factor to Graham’s wariness. 

“Yeah, it’s me, Doc.” He gives her arm a squeeze. “What the hell happened?” 

Her eyes drift closed again and she shifts her legs like she’s thinking about standing, but doesn’t follow through. 

“Still got that comfy sofa?” The Doctor mumbles, and she almost sounds intoxicated with the sheer wobbliness to her speech. Mulled together and not all there, and before Graham can formulate a response he hears the crunch of leaves under shoes as Ryan and Yaz come hustling into the space behind him. 

“Oh my god.” He hears Yaz’s gasp of surprise from over his shoulder. “What?” 

“What happened?” Ryan tries to push his way through the overgrown shrubs on the Doctor’s other side, no care for the branches that scrape at his bare arms. “Is she alright?” 

“Dunno what happened,” Graham eases back with a wince to sit on his heels. “but she’s in a bad way. Help me get her up.” 

The best he and Ryan can do with her inconvenient position is each grab a hand and slowly haul her upright. Her head drops backwards with the action, limp and uncomfortable looking, and as soon as there’s space to do so Yaz slips around behind her back to support her from behind. 

She’s not quite unconscious but must have little to no sense of what’s happening, where she is, or who she’s with, because the Doctor starts to fight back with movements so weak they don’t do a thing in her favor. She attempts to pull her hands away, leans forward slightly to pitch her weight out of their grasp, but no one lets up. 

“It’s us.” Ryan promises, in a calm and deeply caring voice Graham doesn’t know if he’s ever heard on him. “It’s just us.” 

She’s convinced, instantly. Eyes still closed, she sinks into the reassurance of his voice and Graham feels the tension under his hands completely dissipate as the Doctor slumps against Ryan’s side. 

“Inside.” Graham orders, brief and urgent.

They’re basically carrying her, all three of them providing some sort of support as they guide her out of the shrubs and toward the front door. Yaz breaks away to swing it open and hold it there as Graham and Ryan all but drag the Doctor in the direction of her favorite sofa. 

As soon as her back hits the cushions she slackens entirely, and the last of her dwindling consciousness slips away. 

Graham, Ryan and Yaz can do nothing for a moment but stand over her, let her presence sink in. 

“Well, she’s back.” Yaz says halfheartedly, momentarily rooted. 

Graham frowns at the Doctor’s bedraggled appearance, trying to make heads or tails of the minuscule clues in front of him to piece together the past month’s events through her eyes. She looks quite battered, most definitely, but there’s something underlying. Even in unconsciousness, her brow is pinched and her nose is wrinkled as if she’s in pain, and a busted lip wouldn’t be enough cause for that. 

“Where’s she been?” Ryan sounds similarly dumbfounded. 

“She’s hurt.” Yaz states the clear as day and slowly moves to kneel next to the sofa. “Is it just her face?” 

Graham shrugs, given what little bit of the rest of her skin they can see looks to be relatively untouched. Yaz rolls up the Doctor’s sleeves to check her arms, parts her hair to check for bumps and bruises, and Graham and Ryan both instinctively overt their eyes when Yaz goes to lift her shirt even though they know that the Doctor couldn’t care less. 

“She looks alright,” Yaz informs on a confused note. She rests her palm on the Doctor’s forehead then, frowning, sounding a tad more troubled. “She’s warm, though. Something else is wrong.” 

“What do we do? Just wait for her to wake up?” Ryan wonders aloud, already impatient with the idea. 

“That’s all we can do, probably.” Graham says. “And keep an eye on her while we do.” 

“I’ve got a bad feeling.” Yaz voices quietly, eyes fixed on the Doctor’s closed ones, and echoes Ryan’s earlier inquiry. “Where’s she been? And… was she there for that whole time?” 

Graham nudges the Doctor’s legs a bit, making just enough space for him to perch on the edge of the sofa. “Must’ve gotten trapped.” He muses. 

“By who, though?” Ryan asks, and immediately the three share a look on the brink of realization. 

“It could’ve been anyone.” Yaz says quickly, for herself as much as the others. “She’s been around a bit, but…” 

“Yeah.” Ryan agrees slowly. “Because this seems personal, doesn’t it?” 

“You thinking about that Master bloke?” Graham clarifies to two anxious nods. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I’ve got that feeling too.” 

“For something like this to happen so soon after he pops up…” Yaz drifts off, thoughtful. “It’s that gut feeling, you know? The really bad one.” 

“Like the feeling when we saw him go from all happy helper to alien psycho in the blink of an eye?” Graham chimes. “I know the one.” 

They all find their eyes resting on the Doctor’s form once again, as if in wait, but Graham doesn’t expect her to be perking up any time soon. 

“Yaz, you’re welcome to stay over tonight.” He offers, taking note of the tender way Yaz is holding the Doctor’s hand like she never wants to let go. 

“Thanks, Graham.” She doesn’t look up at him. “I can keep an eye on her if you two have anything to do.” 

They don’t, not really, but Graham uses the excuse of the washing up to take a step back from the scene for a bit. He’s got a feeling they’re in for a long night - might as well take the opportunity while the Doctor’s asleep to recollect and refocus. 

She’s back, finally, and Graham’s looking forward to actually feeling relieved about it. 

* * *

The Doctor’s out like a light for a good few hours. Three or four, give or take, but Graham isn’t paying any mind to the clock. 

He, Ryan and Yaz have all settled semi-comfortably into the space of the living room. No one’s tired, despite the late hour, and the low volume of an uninteresting television program whispers background noises that barely scratch the surface of Graham’s racing mind. He turned it on out of habit, hoping the distraction might set everyone’s nerves at ease a tad. It doesn’t. 

He’s sinking uncomfortably into the old, broken armchair passed down from his dad, and Graham braces his hands on the arms to heave himself into a more comfortable position. He glances over as he does, noticing Ryan’s distant eyes watching right through the telly as he slumps into a beanbag chair, Yaz sitting cross legged from the pallet of blankets and cushions they dragged from the bedrooms and piled right next to the sofa, per Yaz’s request. 

The Doctor hasn’t moved, but she’s breathing, and Yaz appears transfixed by that reassuring, rhythmic certitude. 

It’s long since gone dark outside, and the low light of the lamp in the corner of the room bathes the space in yellow. Something about the setting is warm, Graham notes. A domestic, familial comfort not unlike a family reunion on Christmas Eve, when you’re all gathered around a fire and film and spend your time swapping stories, coming closer together, savoring each other’s presence. 

It has the potential to be a nice feeling, being here with his family, relaxing in silent companionship, and it very nearly is for an unwitting instant. 

The Doctor mumbles something unintelligible that would be easy to miss if they all three weren’t anxiously awaiting something of the very sort. Graham sits up in his chair and leans in her direction, trying to see her face. 

“She awake?” Ryan tilts his head backwards just about as far as it can go, hanging over the back of the beanbag chair as he excitedly tries to place her in his line of view. 

The Doctor mumbles again as her legs shift restlessly, pained eyes slowly cracking open. 

Yaz is already hovering over the Doctor with unsure hands held mid air and careful words spoken in a whisper. “Hey, you back with us?” 

The Doctor blinks a couple times and Graham watches that groggy look plummet into one of confusion as her eyes dart around, her chest begins to heave with shallow breaths - confusion turns to wariness, which leaves one thing to come after. 

She’s lost again, and the Doctor suddenly looks terrified and far away as those usually vibrant hazel eyes fail to focus. 

He and Ryan come to kneel at Yaz’s side as she looks down at their friend with a pained, sympathetic wince, trying to snag her hand that shifts aimlessly and nervously. 

“It’s us, Doc.” Graham lays a hand on her leg, tries to help her understand they’re all there, but she recoils from his touch as much as she’s able to with a quiet groan. 

“She’s completely out of it.” Ryan says, disappointment evident. 

“D’you think she was drugged or something?” Graham leans over to touch the Doctor’s forehead, frowning, but unsurprised when she tries to shrink away. “Fever’s worse. Let’s get that coat off.” 

Sitting her up is expectedly challenging. Ryan slips a hand behind her back to lift her upright and immediately, she’s fighting, or doing her half-conscious equivalent of it. 

“No, no, no.” The Doctor tries to shove away one of the hands on her shoulder, tries to reach the one behind her back to bat it away, but her movements are too sluggish to be fruitful and all she manages is to flop in everyone’s sturdy grip. 

Once she’s sitting upright Yaz holds her there, moving around so that the Doctor can hopefully see her face while Graham and Ryan make quick work of sliding her coat off her shoulders. Something about the action sets her off, the loss of the comforting and familiar weight around her shoulders causing true and proper fear to flash in the Doctor’s eyes. 

“Hey, breathe, breathe, it’s just us.” Yaz cups her face in two hands, ducking her head to look fiercely into her friend’s wandering eyes. “It’s only us. You’re safe.” 

Those half-lidded eyes scan the face before them, and the Doctor’s hands slowly come up to rest on Yaz’s wrists as she takes a deep breath in, let’s it out, and stops struggling. 

Yaz smiles her relief and drops her hands to the Doctor’s shoulders, gives them a reassuring squeeze before guiding her to lie back down. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she’s out again. 

Yaz stays on the floor while Graham and Ryan take a small step back, both sighing simultaneously. 

“At what point should we be proper worried?” Ryan scratches the back of his head, grimacing as the Doctor makes an uncomfortable noise in unconsciousness. 

“I’m well past that, dunno about you two.” Graham rubs one tired eye. “Any bright ideas besides waiting it out?” 

He’s met with silence, because what  _ do  _ you do when your alien best mate refuses to tell you hardly a personal detail beyond  _ two hearts.  _ Not only do they hardly know a thing about her past, but it’s not like she bothered the throw medical history in with her brief excuse of a life story. 

“Should we take her to A&E?” Ryan tries, and Yaz shakes her head. 

“We don’t know what else is different about her biology. She could end up gettin’ carted off somewhere.” 

Graham processes the possibility, and deflates. 

“Suppose all we can do is look after her.” His tone has a defeated tinge that wasn’t intentional, and Graham realizes he’s already considering the possibility that just looking after her won’t be enough. 

“We can take turns.” Yaz offers. “It’s late, you two must be knackered.” 

“So must you, though.” Ryan rebuttals. 

Yaz finally breaks her attention away from the Doctor to lower herself to the floor, pressing her back against the base of the sofa as she admits tiredly, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink if I tried.” 

Graham feels exhaustion creeping into his very bones, but he understands. “Yeah, me either, probably.” 

Ryan nods with confidence, deciding for them. “All-nighter it is, then.” 

* * *

It’s around four in the morning, an old recording of  _ The Chase  _ speaking quietly to four inattentive audience members when the Doctor starts to cry out. 

Her eyes are screwed shut but she’s seeing  _ something,  _ deep in her own mind, and Graham doesn’t think he wants to know what it is. The Doctor’s hands twitch and tremble as she twists her fingers into the material of her shirt, white knuckled and desperate, choking out pained sounds that are difficult to listen to. 

“Is she dreaming?” Graham, definitely no longer struggling to keep his eyes open pushes down the foot of the recliner and readies to stand. 

“I don’t know.” Yaz is sitting on the edge of the sofa again, looming over the Doctor and brushing stray hair away from her face. “Doctor, wake up.” 

Graham comes to kneel at Yaz’s side while Ryan rolls out of his bean bag chair to join in on the efforts. He hovers over the Doctor’s face, watching anxiously as Yaz tries to rouse her, and takes the liberty of putting two hands on the Doctor’s shoulders and shaking her vigorously. “ _ Doctor.”  _

She wakes abruptly with a gasp, fever bright eyes immediately surveying her surroundings and briefly failing to process them. 

“Doc, it’s us.” Graham says, the phrase becoming a mantra in his head. “Do you know what’s going on?” 

She doesn’t for a moment from the looks of it, her body is still rigid and her grip on her shirt hasn’t eased, but her gaze flickers between each of her companions and a mix of understanding and relief crashes down on her visibly. 

“Hiya, fam.” Her voice is a barely audible rasp, and her attempt to frown at it is interrupted when her eyes clamp shut again and her body seizes up. “ _ Ow. _ ” 

“What hurts?” Yaz fusses, a concerned hand coming to rest on the Doctor’s arm as she rides out the wave. 

She relaxes again, only a fraction, letting out a sharp exhale and opening her eyes miserably. “Everything.” 

Graham sinks at that, starting to feel a headache forming with the amount of worried forehead-creasing he’s doing. He feels a tad helpless, but it’s a blessed sign to see her relatively aware. “Everything?” 

“Absolutely everything.” Her eyes snap shut once more and she groans, curls in on herself a bit when pain builds into something even an alien evidentially can’t tolerate. It ebbs once again and she’s left struggling to catch her breath. 

“What can we do?” Ryan still has one hand lingering on her shoulder, and when she doesn’t immediately respond he presses nervously. “Is there anything we  _ can  _ do?” 

“No.” She grunts, trying to lay flat and breathe steady. “He…  _ agh -  _ gave me something that’s attacking my immune system… dunno what it is but I’ll be alright.” 

Graham gapes, and Yaz chuckles without an ounce of humor behind it. “How do you know you’ll be alright if you don’t know what’s wrong?” 

“Time Lords have  _ really  _ impressive immune systems.” Her attempt to gloat falls flat when it’s punctuated by a hitching of breath, her whole face twisted miserably in a way that squeezes Graham’s heart. 

“No offense, Doc - nothin’ impressive about this.” 

The pinch at her brow eases into a slightly more  _ annoyed  _ than distressed one. “Oi.” 

Her eyelids are fluttering and Graham realizes she’s either losing consciousness or her moment of lucidity. Before he can squeeze in one more pressing question, Ryan beats him to it. 

“So by he,” He tests, unsure. “You meant…” 

“The Master.” The Doctor says it in a hurry, a race against her own body. 

“Yeah, we figured.” Yaz confesses, saving her further curiosities for later. 

“Really?” The Doctor cracks her eyes open a bit more at that as her words weaken, slow down in between. “How’d you manage that, then?” 

“Mutual hunch.” Ryan shrugs, and that’s enough for her. 

The Doctor’s breaths are short and agitated but she still somehow looks like she’s falling asleep, eyes growing distant. 

“Seriously, Doc, is there anything we can do to… I dunno.” He waves a hand as a general gesture. “You’ll definitely be alright?” 

“Mhm.” Her eyes are almost shut now, nose wrinkling. “Wha’ever he gave me my body’s burnin’ off. ‘s not that bad.” 

Graham, Ryan and Yaz can’t help but collectively chuckle at that. The Doctor could be dead as a doornail and still probably find a way to say  _ It’s not that bad.  _

“He only did this to have a go at you.” 

Graham does a double take, and for a moment there’s no sound but the voice of that good-looking bloke drifting low from the telly. 

“What do you mean, have a go at us?” Yaz looks down at her. 

But the Doctor’s once again slipped under, or away, wherever it is she goes when she closes her eyes, and the revelation is left to hang. 

“Have a go at  _ us? _ ” Ryan parrots, face swimming with confusion. “Look at  _ her. _ ” 

Graham does just that, and his stomach churns with a brief surge of rage towards the devil that would put someone so dear to him through this sort of hell. His adrenaline is still working to settle back to a normal pace, and every time he looks at the Doctor - even  _ with _ the knowledge that she’s not, in fact, dying - his heart stutters. 

“It’s all some game to him for all we know.” He tries to dismiss, too tired to look much further. “I’m not gonna unpack all that tonight.” 

Yaz looks like she’s about to push but seems to decide against it, and Ryan physically shakes off the eerie thought before flopping back into his beanbag chair. 

Graham slowly but surely pushes himself up off the floor with a couple grunts and several popping joints, gives the Doctor’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Sweet dreams, Doc.” 

A few minutes later and they’ve all settled right back into place. A cold flannel rests on the Doctor’s forehead that Yaz took the initiative of retrieving, who’s now laying on the floor with an arm cushioning her head as she watches the telly with fluttering eyes. 

Graham sinks back into his armchair and interlocks his fingers behind his head, sleep practically begging for him to allow it to take hold. And he will, soon, now that he knows the Doctor will be alright. The coil of nervousness in his stomach is almost gone, but it lingers enough to keep his eyes open and drifting in the Doctor’s direction. 

She’s okay though, he reminds himself, but keeps a watchful eye - sees Ryan and Yaz doing exactly the same, trying not to fall asleep, lifting heavy heads to glance her way and make sure she’s _ still  _ okay. 

Fighting the tug of sleep, Graham distantly lets his mind wander over the possibilities of the Master’s… intentions. He drops their ill and injured friend on their doorstep like a broken gift, or a bad joke. A nutter’s game of ding-dong-ditch, perhaps. 

She’s alright at least.  _ This  _ game didn’t get anyone killed. Whether it was all for entertainment or some ignorant way to rile the humans up, for Graham the situation just served as a reminder of just how much he cares for this  _ specific  _ nutter. 

And, a reminder to trim his shrubs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are appreciated, prompts are encouraged :) Fugitive of the Judoon airs tomorrow and I’ve got a feeling there’s gonna be much to process


	7. The Devil at Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can’t come up with a half decent summary for the life of me. Good ol’ classic Possessed!Doctor fic ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s for thewinterunicorn, who wanted to see an unhinged possessed!thirteen and being the angst black hole that i am, here’s freaking 6.5k words of it 
> 
> okay, the first chunk is useless banter, but i love useless banter

“Stealing ain’t really your  _ M.O. _ is it, Doc?” Graham’s eyes peek over the top of an armful of what he’s come to the conclusion  _ has  _ to be mostly junk. The Doctor insists it’s all necessary, and maybe a  _ few  _ things in his pile have some function, but only a few. 

“It’s not stealing!” She defends, loud and sincere, and adjusts her hold on her own haul of bits and bobs. “The Pyyro are a step ahead of you lot. They’ve got a rubbish bin, one for the recycling, and one for the things one might  _ typically  _ throw out but that still has any type of salvageable material.” 

“So we’re dumpster diving, then.” Yaz sums up with a slightly disgusted frown, concentrating on not dropping any of the Doctor’s precious garbage. 

“Sort of,” The Doctor wrinkles her nose apologetically. “But it’s not rubbish! Those were the salvage bins back there, much cleaner.” 

“So we  _ were _ stealing.” Ryan backtracks, stating it with uncertainty. “Because doesn’t that mean they were plannin’ on somehow reusing all this stuff?” Ryan grimaces when his hand brushes a disturbingly squishy piece of something in his armload. 

“Er… no.” The Doctor leads them round a corner, mental map paving the way through the twists and turns of the ship’s corridor with ease. “This is the stuff even the officials don’t want.” She nods in the direction of a passing window, a glimpse of stars and deep space flashing in her periphery. “This ship’s on its way to Seffilun 22. Or 23, one of those. Somewhere in the twenties, that I’m sure of.” 

“Seffilun…” Graham rolls the name around on his tongue. “Sonic mine planet, wasn’t it?” 

“That’s the one!” The Doctor beams with poorly placed enthusiasm. “No explosions or subsequent Pting for us today, fam.” 

“Why’s the ship so big if it’s just for transport?” Yaz asks, simply for the sake of biding time. It’s a much longer walk to the TARDIS than it was from, now that she’s got what’s starting to feel like the weight equivalent of a second person in her arms. 

“It’s still got a crew.” The Doctor points out. “Even junk ships need a pilot.” 

“Wonder why we haven’t seen him, then?” Graham muses, trailing a couple steps behind the group as per usual. 

The Doctor merely shrugs, unconcerned. “Probably off piloting.” 

Ryan twists around when he thinks he hears something in the distance behind him, and easily brushes it off when he finds nothing. The slight movement causes a… (spoon, maybe?) to tumble off the top of his pile, and he disregards it. He’d probably drop the whole lot if he tried to pick it up. 

“What do  _ you _ need all this stuff for, anyway?” Ryan asks, mildly disgruntled and ready to give his arms a break. 

“I told you!” The Doctor pipes excitedly. “I’m building a sonic squirrel.” 

Ryan chokes, and Yaz a fumbles for a response. 

“A sonic  _ squirrel? _ ” Yaz parrots, unable to suppress a chuckle. “You most definitely did not tell us that.”

“And why sonic?” Graham prompts, to which the Doctor shrugs. 

“I’ve already done clockwork.” 

“And how exactly will this squirrel be sonic?” Ryan asks. 

That,  _ that,  _ makes her hesitate. 

“It, er…” She looks through the assortment in her own arms. “It’ll make a noise.” 

“And you need all this alien rubbish to build a squirrel, that makes a noise.” 

“Oh, shut it, Graham. Everyone’s got a hobby.” 

Said alien rubbish nearly goes spilling all over the floor when a low thrum of attempted communication behind their backs causes everyone to jump in alarm. They spin around carefully, shoulders tensed and eyes wide. 

So that’s what a Pyyro looks like, then. From the eco-friendly and considerate description the Doctor had briefly provided,  _ this  _ was not to be expected; tall, only vaguely humanoid-shaped lumps of sentience, and only slightly on  _ fire?  _

The fam take a nervous step back and the Doctor instinctively raises one hand to calm them. All but half a wristwatch and a bent tin cup tumble out of her grasp, and she frowns at the mess in disappointment only briefly before snapping back to attention. “They’re nice, it’s okay! Only…” 

The low thrum, and a bit of a sizzle sound again from the group of six Pyyro standing guard, most definitely at least  _ appearing  _ hostile. 

“Why aren’t you translating?” The Doctor asks with a confused tilt of her head, only earning a sizzle in reply. She digs into the question for a moment, pestering her own knowledge, sucking her teeth in frustration when the answer hangs just out of reach. “Could be the TARDIS is upset with me for materializing her in the middle of an exploding ship to rescue Jake - she does know how to hold a grudge.” 

“Would she really muck with the translator though, Doc?” Graham challenges. “Doesn’t sound like her.” 

“You’ve evidently never upset her before, then.” She looks about ready to spring into an anecdote to back up her theory, but bites her lip instead. “But you’re a bit right at the same time. Don’t think this is her fault.” 

“Hello, can we do something about the aliens on fire?” Ryan urges, deeming his armload temporarily pointless and letting it clatter to the floor. 

“Aliens on fire.” Graham repeats, eyes fixed on the fact. 

“ _ Nice  _ aliens on fire.” The Doctor reminds them, and raises the watch and tin cup as non-threateningly as she can. “Hello, we’re just stopping by to lighten the load a bit! No foul play here. We’re nice too, I promise.” 

As convincing as she tries to be, her words do nothing to ease the simmering. 

“Don’t suppose Jeff is around, is he?” The Doctor stands on her tip-toes to look through the near identical stoney faces of the Pyyro crowding the corridor. “No? Well then.” She drops the last two items in surrender when the flaming figures step in her direction threateningly. Do as they ask, guys. I’m sure they’re asking very nicely.” 

The Pyyro at the front of the group seethes with what sure does  _ look  _ like rage, and the barricade parts in gesture for the intruders to fall into line in between them. 

Yaz and Graham deposit their loads of contraband onto the floor in defeat, heavy sighs sounding from the three humans more out of tired frustration than the fact that they’re now being escorted by six flaming captors. 

They walk on in disgruntled silence, to where no one questions, or really cares at the moment. There will be a way out, wherever they end up, like always. 

Something unseen catches the Doctor drastically off guard, and she comes to a distracted halt with eyes fixed wildly ahead. 

“Doctor?” Yaz furrows her brow as a Pyyro bumps the Doctor back into motion, somehow not setting her coat ablaze in the process. She fumbles for her footing, eyes darting back and forth as if she’s searching for something in the air. 

“Doctor, what is it?” Yaz puts a hand on the Doctor’s back to keep her moving forward as her friend regains her bearings, finds her footing and raises a hand absentmindedly to the side of her head. 

The Doctor glances behind herself, frowns when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, and turns back to the others. Jaw slack in her daze, she has Yaz, Ryan and Graham’s full attention now and she holds it tight, whispers urgently in alarm. 

_ “There’s something on this ship.”  _

* * *

They’re guided and locked into a sort of storage cupboard, spacey enough for everyone to breathe, small enough to make Ryan pace from one side to another no matter how many times Graham tells him to stop. It’s a far cry from a proper holding cell. Evidently, Pyyro junk ships don’t see many intruders. 

“What did you mean there’s something on the ship?” Yaz stands over where the Doctor is leaning back unsteadily against the wall, eyes still searching the air with a confused pinch at her brow.

“I dunno, I just…” There's a slight shake of her head as her words trail off, unable to deliver. “I felt something. I  _ definitely  _ felt something… but it’s gone now. I think.” 

“Felt something?” Ryan stops his pacing. 

The Doctor nods, straightening herself up and shifting smoothly from that state of incomplete fear to something much sturdier. “In my head, like there was something trying to -” She squints as she searches for the right words. “Grab me? No, that’s not right.” 

“As long as it’s not another bloody Tping.” Graham mutters, hands in pockets. 

“Pting.” She corrects. 

“What did it feel like was trying to - grab you, or whatever?” Yaz tries, and the Doctor doesn’t quite suppress a shudder. 

“Something dark,” She ponders, a flicker of worry in her eyes betraying the depths of her unease. “Something potentially dangerous.” She adds, on a more alarmed note, because the air suddenly feels very cold and the Doctor’s mind suddenly feels  _ very  _ exposed. Her fingers curl slowly into fists and she finds herself tensed, braced for impact. Hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, the chilling sting of dread sinking heavily into her bones. 

Whatever it is, it’s here. 

The cold claws of a demoralized, sacrilegious shadow begin to dig into a corner of her mind, through a door she’s left open; a wall she’s left vulnerable. The Doctor snaps her eyes shut the instant she feels the intrusion, hands flying to her temples and rejection on her lips. 

“No.” She commands, pressing the heels of her hands firmly into the sides of her head as she slams a door closed, only for it to be kicked down. 

“Doctor, what’s happening?” Yaz grabs one of her shoulders in alarm and the Doctor takes a deep breath in, roots herself to the physical sensation. 

Those crooked, sordid claws wrap their way further around her mind, closing in tighter and no matter how much she fights back, they’re threatening to completely encompass her. 

_ “Get out of my head.”  _

Her unsteady voice loses momentum as the shadow creeps wider, the feel of it curling around her brain far too palpable, far too strong for her defenses to hold up. 

“You know that thing trying to grab me that I mentioned?” The Doctor forces out through gritted teeth, dropping one hand from her head in the beginnings of defeat. 

Ryan splutters, wide-eyed and on the verge of frantic. “The thing we were literally just talkin’ about?” 

“Yeah, well-” The Doctor drops her other hand uncomfortably to her side as her muscles seize up and those corrupted claws wrap completely around her mind. Her throat constricts, words nearly getting stuck on their way out but she manages a breathy, uneasy warning. “It got me.” 

And her lights go out.

* * *

The switch in the Doctor’s demeanor is immediate and entirely unexpected, like sitting on the TV remote and accidentally changing the channel. 

Her shoulders lose all tension and her face simply drops. No longer tight with resistance or twisted with discomfort, just blank, empty, and unfamiliar, like she’s become a shell of a person. 

A shell, that now has a new inhabitant, and the bleak lack of expression on the Doctor’s face morphs back into what Yaz can’t quite call life. 

Her eyes are dark - still a beautiful hazel that normally hold all the stars in the universe behind them, but their shine is nowhere to be seen. Yaz has looked deep into those eyes every day for the past  _ however  _ long; studied them, memorized them, and the wicked gaze that stares back at her is that of a stranger. 

The Doctor’s lips twitch into a sickening excuse of a smile and Yaz can’t help but be reminded of the Master -  _ O  _ as they knew him back then, and the moment his act had slipped and they watched him take on the stance of an entirely different person. But unlike that scenario, a fallen facade; a mask stripped away… this is different. 

This isn’t the Doctor. 

Yaz yanks her hands back from the Doctor’s shoulders and pulls them protectively to her chest, takes a wary step back toward the reassurance of the boys. 

“Doc?” Graham tests, perturbed and unsure.

“Sorry, but no.” The Doctor says cooly, except it’s  _ not  _ the Doctor, Yaz can clearly see. It’s her form, her voice, her hands that splay and stretch experimentally, but this is someone - or some _ thing  _ else entirely. “Your companion is gone.” She states it very matter-of-factly, and without a care in the world. 

“ _ What? _ ” Ryan lunges forward out of wrongly placed instinct but Graham holds him back. “What do you mean  _ gone? _ ” 

“Oh, she’s still rattling around in here somewhere.” The Doctor gestures vaguely to her head, the rest of her stance eerily still. “She’s ever so loud, quite strong, too, trying to push me out like that, but not strong enough.” She chuckles, and Yaz’s hand curls into a nervous fist. “Not  _ quite  _ strong enough.”

Graham and Ryan are wordless, stunned and transfixed, and while Yaz can hardly blame them,  _ someone  _ has to start asking questions. Normally that’s where the Doctor excels, but she’s a bit out of commission for the time being. 

Well, Yaz reflects, she  _ has  _ been wanting to be in charge, after all. Suppose she’s got to start somewhere. Then again, these aren’t exactly ideal conditions for her first opportunity to take the lead. 

“Who are you?” She begins, testing the waters carefully and watching the Doctor’s expression for any keying clues. 

That laugh again, cynical and painfully demeaning. “What do you want, a name? You rudimentary species and your titles.” She shakes her head dismissively. “A sentimental concept, and an entirely unnecessary one.” 

“Alright,” Yaz bites her tongue, suddenly overthinking her choice of words. “ _ What _ are you?” 

As if only just now discovering the existence of her legs, the Doctor tests them out by taking a couple experimental steps side to side. “There might be a word for me, somewhere out there.” She says distractedly, uncaring. “I’m usually not much one for words myself, so I suppose I wouldn’t know.” 

“Whatever you are, you’ve… taken over our friend.” Yaz doesn’t want to say  _ possessed  _ because that’s too real - too horror film. But despite the complete whack to the head of a predicament she feels a surge of much needed confidence, authoritative instincts taking charge and kicking the seriousness of her tone up a notch. “And you need to get out.” 

“Oh, but you see, even if I wanted to,” The Doctor taps her temple with her index finger, a knowing look in her eye that tells Yaz ‘she’ most definitely does not. “it doesn’t work like that. You see, I don’t have a form. I belong in the vacuum; drifting through the particles of nothing between dying stars. I was doing fine there.” Her face twists into a snarl. “Until those lumps didn’t time the manual air lock properly on a hull check after a close call with an asteroid. I need her in order to exist properly in here, and you _humans_ aren’t compatible. Otherwise I’d be happy to hop around.” 

“You’re clever.” Graham speaks finally before Yaz has the chance, a challenge behind his eyes. “For someone who’s only experienced proper consciousness for a few minutes.” 

“There’s  _ so much  _ in this head.” The Doctor says with a twinge of dangerous excitement. “Far too much to cover it all at the moment, but I’m a  _ very _ quick learner.”

“So what do you want, then?” Yaz demands, taking a single bold step closer. When the Doctor does it, it always gives off the impression that she’s completely in control, whether she is or not. 

She bristles alarmingly at the sudden movement, and Yaz takes her one-step win. 

“To feel the final breaths leave the forms of six Pyyro beneath my bare hands - because I  _ have  _ bare hands now and they’re a very irritating species _ \-  _ ” She holds one up, waggles her fingers for show. “And be on my way.”

“Mate,” Ryan warns with an exasperated huff. “The Doctor’s not gonna be alright with that.” 

There’s a almost imperceptible twitch of her head as the muscles in her neck grow taut. Yaz can see them spasm under her skin in protest, tension returning to the Doctor’s shoulders as her hands ball into tight fists against her thighs. 

There’s a flicker in her eyes, a flash of familiarity, and Yaz realizes the Doctor is fighting back. 

Her head droops shakily as if she’s losing consciousness, but as Yaz takes a tentative step forward with arms readied to catch her if she falls, the Doctor snaps back to life with a gasp and a faltered step to the left.

“Fam,” she’s breathless, one hand extended slightly in their direction to hold their attention while the other presses firmly into the side of her head, keeping the devil at bay. She speaks quickly, clearly short on time. “It’s called the Khrelan, it  _ really  _ hurts, and I’ve got less than sixty seconds before it’s in control again.” 

Yaz feels just about weightless with the relief at the sound of her voice, her  _ actual  _ voice, eyes no longer cold and dangerous, instead bright and more than a tiny bit afraid. Her legs want to bring her closer but Yaz roots herself to the spot, scanning the Doctor head to toe and piquing her less optimistic senses. 

“What are we supposed to do?” Yaz asks, forcing calm into her voice that threatens to waver in her unease. “How do we get it out?” 

The Doctor shakes her head vigorously, putting the task on the back burner. “Can’t… it’s too strong right now.” She interrupts herself with a grunt, wobbling slightly as the Khrelan assaults her mind from the inside, demanding to resurface. “Keep… keep it talking, keep it distracted. It’s trying to take control little by little, severing my connection with the TARDIS translation matrix, and yours, consequently… for a start.” 

Ryan furrows his brow. “What good’s that gonna do it?” 

“Well,” the Doctor mutters worriedly. “It landed us in a controlled space, for one. But I think it’s just…” She trails off on a low moan of discomfort, eyes screwing shut as her palm digs furiously into her temple. “ _ Agh _ \- it’s  _ tampering  _ with me - testing it’s boundaries, ” 

“Well what’s up your sleeve, Doc?” Graham’s anxiety is palpable in the heavy air. “Can’t you get it out?”

“Eventually,” she grits out, jaw clenched and body shuddering, and Yaz can tell she’s losing control. “Probably. But in the meantime… please,  _ please,”  _ her eyes harden, critical plea laced with desperation. “Please don’t let me kill anyone.” 

And then the Doctor hunches over with two hands flying to her head, a frustrated shout is silenced in its beginning, and she straightens. 

Cold, collected, calm. And it’s absolutely terrifying. 

“Anyways,” The Khrelan dismisses, seemingly unperturbed by her backseat driver. “if you’ll step aside.” 

“Door’s locked, I’m afraid.” Graham pointedly slaps it with the palm of his hand, nodding subsequently to the red-lit touchscreen control panel at it’s left. 

“You think that makes any difference?” She cocks her head slightly to the left, sizing him up. 

“Er…” 

“What are  _ you  _ gonna do against six big rocky fire monsters and the three of us?” Ryan challenges confidentially. The Doctor might not be in control of her own mind or body, but she’s no bigger than even Yaz alone. She’ll be easy to overpower, if worse comes to worst. 

The crooked grin twisting her sardonic expression leaves Yaz with pinpricks of dread dancing across her skin. 

“You say that as if you plan to stop me.” The Khrelan says levelly, and with her head ducked and hooded eyes looking up at them, it comes across as a challenge. 

Yaz stands her ground even though her instincts scream  _ back away.  _ “Obviously.” She tries to make it sound threatening, but doesn’t quite stick the landing. 

Something flashes in the Khrelan’s eyes that causes Yaz’s muscles to tense, and she barely has time to take a single step back before the Khrelan is lunging for her in two large strides and closing her hand around her throat. 

Yaz is so taken aback by the force and the  _ fact  _ of it all that she can do nothing but try and curl her fingers under the Doctor’s and attempt to pry them away, gasping for breath and shuffling her feet in protest as those shadowed eyes glisten with satisfaction. The hand grips tighter, blocking her airway, cutting off her circulation, and her head is already spinning. 

“Yaz!” Ryan and Graham dive forward to tug the Doctor’s arms, grip her wrists to relent her hold, Ryan even slams his shoulder against hers to throw her off balance, and she doesn’t even stumble. 

Yaz fights for air as dark spots begin to swirl around the corners of her vision, framing the Khrelan’s twisted smile like a painting. She claws feebly at her wrists, movements slowing and weakening by the millisecond. 

She’s started to accept the fact that she’s going to black out at the  _ very  _ least, when the Khrelan’s hold loosens with a sharp inhale and a stagger to the right, hand on her head. 

Yaz drops to the floor with a heavy, blessed gasp, holds one hand against her now tender neck while the other braces herself upright, breaths heaving and body weak with relief. 

Ryan’s at her side with a worried grip on her shoulder and through Yaz’s disintegrating haze she hears the Doctor shout, something pained and agitated and without looking up, Yaz knows she’s back. 

“When I said -” The Doctor’s slightly bent at the waist as she backs away to the furthest corner of the room, which still doesn’t leave much distance between them. She grunts when her back hits the wall, hanging onto consciousness for dear life. “When I said  _ ‘don’t let me kill anyone’ _ , that included you, you know.” She clamps her eyes shut and digs her palm into her temple for a moment, and when they open again they’re red-rimmed and apologetic. “Yaz… I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” 

Yaz swallows around the ache in her throat and looks up, nodding rapidly and reassuringly. “I’m fine.” She coughs when her voice doesn’t land properly on the first attempt. “‘s not your fault.” 

“Doc, what do we do?” Graham asks urgently and steps closer in his frantics, coming to a halt only when the Doctor raises a shaky hand in warning. “That thing is bloody strong, we’re sitting ducks in here.” 

“You’ve got to get that door open…” Each word seems to be costing her energy, and she’s losing her fight before their eyes. “And get me to the TARDIS. I need a good telepathic  _ zap  _ to shock the Khrelan out of my brain. I can’t -” She buckles with a groan, and Yaz can see her whole body trembling from across the room. “I can’t do it… I can’t get it out on my own.” 

Ryan encourages Yaz to stand with a gentle tug on her arm, and she accepts his support as she stumbles to her feet. “How are we supposed to get out of this cupboard, let alone drag you to the TARDIS?” 

“ _ Somehow. _ ” Is all she has to offer, and her eyes are glossed over when she homes in on Yaz’s gaze fiercely. “And  _ be careful _ . I might not be able to stop it next time…” 

And the sickening switch unfolds before her eyes again; a gasp and a wobble, and the Khrelan frowns. 

“My  _ point, _ ” She’s seething on the verge of something precarious, fingers twitching in shaky frustration. “Is that if I want to kill you, I can. And I have to say,” The Khrelan’s entire demeanor is much unsteadier now; broken and unhinged, and entirely unpredictable. “that the idea is growing on me.” 

Yaz falls in line between Ryan and Graham and the three of them stand tall in between the Khrelan, and her exit. Wary, but not ones to take their given tasks lightly. 

But then again…

“You said you can get the door open?” She tries to sound casual, but she’s not sure for what purpose. 

The Khrelan snarls. “Don’t get clever with me. I’m staying well away from your ship.” 

“So you just want to stay in here then?” Ryan asks with an almost smug look. “Because if you want to get out that door…” He takes a step to the side. 

“We won’t stop you.” Graham, finally catching on, moves out of the way as well, and Yaz follows suit. 

The Khrelan looks from them, to the door, and back again, brow pinched like she’s trying to decode their intentions. Yaz is still trying to decode them as well. 

“Which way’s the TARDIS?” Ryan whispers, though his words still ring loud and clear in the closed in space. 

“To the right.” Yaz nods out the door. “Which is a good thing, because I heard the Pyyro go to the left.” 

“How far?” Graham hisses urgently as the Khrelan starts towards the exit. 

“Not far.” Yaz informs. “But how are we supposed to get her there?” 

“Might have to knock her out.” Ryan suggests, though he sounds far from fond of the idea. 

She bites her lower lip, considering. “What if all that does is knock the Doctor out? The Khrelan might still be able to -”

Yaz gasps, attention yanked by the sound of a loud crunch. The Khrelan’s fist is only half visible amidst the shattered glass of the door’s control panel. The light fizzles from red, to green, to red again, to nonexistent as the mechanism shuts down, and the door slides open on default. 

“Hey!” Yaz steps forward out of blind anger. “You can’t hurt her!” 

She draws her fist out from the mess of wires, glass and circuitry, and the  _ Doctor’s  _ knuckles are scathed and dripping blood. The Khrelan merely shakes her hand out, unaffected. “I can do loads of things.” 

She steps out the door, and turns. To the left. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Yaz hears Graham grunt behind her but she’s already sprinting forward, no cards to play apart from throwing her body into the Doctor’s before the Khrelan can even turn her head. 

She buckles under the impact but doesn’t stay down for a second, and even with all of Yaz’s bodyweight pinning her down the Khrelan heaves upright with barely a struggle, and with no struggle at all, she shoves Yaz in the chest. 

Yaz goes sprawling backwards, already scrambling to her feet for a second attempt when Ryan and Graham come barreling past her and slam the Doctor back down. Her back hits the floor with a grunt and the boys use both their hands to pin her shoulders to the floor as she strains, kicks and shouts. 

“Sorry, Doc.” Graham winces, already breathless with the effort. 

“Let me  _ up! _ ” It's almost a growl; demanding and threatening. 

Yaz crawls forward and narrowing dodging a swift kick to the nose, and drops all her weight over the Doctor’s legs. Even with the three of them using every ounce of strength to pin her down, she fights, and fights  _ hard,  _ and Yaz’s muscles are already aching from the strain. 

“What was that you said about knocking her out?” Yaz grunts as the Khrelan nearly throws her off, wraps her arms around her legs and presses down as hard as she can. 

“Don’t you  _ dare. _ ” 

Graham and Ryan look to Yaz, for some reason, for her to make the decision. 

Yaz looks back to the Khrelan, rage building behind those eyes by the second as they stare back menacingly, possibly challenging. 

“If it’s bad for the Khrelan it’s probably good for us.” She decides on a short exhale, and her gaze flickers expectantly to Ryan. 

He quirks his brow in confusion, and her request dawns on him with wide eyes and his hands recoil in fear of the very thought, flying back to push down on the Khrelan’s shoulder when she nearly breaks free. 

“No way.” He shakes his head insistently. “Er… dyspraxia. I’ll miss.” 

Yaz knows that’s not true, but doesn’t have time to push. She flicks her gaze hopefully,  _ pleadingly _ to the left. “Graham?” 

“I…” He already sounds apologetic, looking down at the Doctor and trying to change his mind. “I can’t hit her, Yaz.” 

She sighs, completely understanding, closing her eyes for a brief moment to process what she’s about to have to do regardless. 

“Don’t. Do  _ not. _ ” The Khrelan bites, struggling to sit upright, head nearly touching her chest as she pushes against them. 

Yaz worms her way higher up while still keeping a firm pressure on her legs, hand hovering midair in uncertainly, and she falters. Does she punch her? Does she slam her  _ head into the floor?  _ Is there any way to go about this that isn’t going to give Yaz nightmares? 

Probably not, and Ryan and Graham are losing their energy against the Khrelan’s tireless thrashing, so Yaz’s subconscious flips a coin. 

She puts a hand on the Khrelan’s forehead - the  _ Doctor’s  _ forehead, and slams the back of her head against the floor. The sound of the impact, the sudden change from fitful expression to lifelessness on the Doctor’s face as she loses consciousness, makes Yaz absolutely sick. Her hand slides down to the Doctor’s cheek, wondering if option A would’ve been any less unnerving. 

“I’m sorry, I’m  _ so  _ sorry. Oh my god.” Yaz gets off of her and sits back heavily, taking a deep breath in and letting it out unsteadily. 

Graham swipes a shaky hand across his forehead and exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and accepting the heaviness of his limbs as he sinks back on his heels. “Blimey.” 

“That’ll do it, Yaz.” Ryan, eyes still glued to the Doctor’s still expression, huffs and elbows Yaz’s arm. “Good work, though. I’m sure that sucked.” 

“I  _ hated  _ that.” Yaz moves to her knees, then slowly to her feet, guilt sitting heavy in her chest even though she’s well aware they couldn’t have done much else. “Come on, we need to get her to the TARDIS before she wakes up.” 

Graham stands and gives Yaz an absentminded, comforting pat on the back while Ryan tries to fit his arms under the Doctor’s shoulders and knees. He stands slowly, a bit wobbly when he finds a secure grip. 

Yaz peeks her head down the corridor to the left, and to her considerable relief as far as she can see the commotion didn’t reach any of the ship’s crew. 

“Got her?” Graham holds out a readied hand as Ryan finds his footing. 

“Yeah.” He shifts her in his grip with a confident nod, and Yaz takes the lead. 

It’s a bit further than she thought it was but still no more than a two or three minute journey until they round a corner, the warm blue glow of the TARDIS welcoming the travelers from the far end. As soon as they reach the doors, the Doctor starts to shift. 

“She’s waking up.” Ryan alerts, and Yaz quickly pushes the door open and urges him inside. She slams it shut in her hurry, and the noise snaps the Doctor awake. The instant her eyes are open she throws herself out of Ryan’s arms, landing heavily on her hands and knees with a yelp at the impact. 

“Doctor?” Yaz steps around to catch sight of her face, uncertain. 

“It’s me.” She sounds a little more like her self than she did the last time she was in control, voice steadier and smoother, though still a bit breathless. “The Khrelan’s hiding.” 

“Well then you’d better get on with that zap you mentioned before she pops back up.” Graham drops to one knee to hook an arm under the Doctor’s and slowly stand, leveraging her along with him. “You alright, love?” 

“I’m fine.” The Doctor grunts with the effort of getting her legs under the rest of her, and nods to the console. “Get me up there.” 

Yaz and Ryan hover close by in case they’re needed as the Doctor leans heavily into Graham, allows him to guide her up the single step and deposit her against the controls where she leans against it with a sigh of relief. 

“Yaz, you’ve got to plug me into the telepathic circuits. Under the console in a small compartment, left of the custard cream dispenser.” 

Yaz goes where she’s directed and bends down, tugging the compartment open to find a coiled wire with a suctioned end that she’s presumably meant to stick to the Doctor’s head. It’s a bit scary looking, partnered with the word  _ zap.  _

“There’s a dial next to it, and a switch next to that.” The Doctor informs, Yaz locates it and takes note. “Crank it up to max and when I’m connected, flip the switch for  _ three  _ seconds before switching it back off.” She puts a load of emphasis on the number, holding Yaz’s eye. “No more, no less. Any less won’t force the Khrelan out and any more will turn my brain into pudding.” 

Yaz lets the information wash over her and gives the Doctor a firm, understanding nod. 

“Ryan.” The Doctor beckons him over with a tilt of her head, and he’s at her side in an instant. “That shock is gonna knock me out so you,” she grabs his hand, places it over a rotating lever. “are on lever duty. As soon as I’m unconscious we need to make sure the Khrelan goes straight back into space, not disperse in here. This’ll open a small vacuum corridor.” She taps his hand. “Not big enough to pull us with it but it’ll get a bit windy, so hold onto something just in case.” 

Yaz recalls New Year’s Day, Ryan’s dad and the Dalek-sized corridor that had expanded and nearly taken Aaron with it. Not an experience anyone wishes to repeat. 

“Speaking of getting knocked out,” The Doctor grimaces, hand drifting thoughtfully to the back of her head. “That was quite the whack, Yaz.” 

“I’m sorry!” She has the wire uncoiled and stretched out to reach the Doctor, and her eyes go wide as guilt grips her heart once again. “We didn’t know what else to do.” 

“You did exactly what you needed to do, but for future reference,” She taps her breast pocket. “The sonic’s got a stun setting.” Yaz is about to blunder out another apology, but there’s a thankful look in the Doctor’s eye that eases her regret enough to move on. 

The Doctor pushes her hair out of the way and as Yaz is reaching forward with the wire, a hand flies up to curl mercilessly around her wrist. 

“ _ No. _ ” The Khrelan stares back at her with chilling, sinful, half lidded eyes, squeezing Yaz’s wrist so tight that her grip on the wire loosens and it falls from her grasp. She goes to snag it with her other hand but then it’s restrained as well, and no matter how much she tugs and jerks she can’t break free. 

Ryan is frozen to his assigned position, helpless and wide eyed, but Graham throws himself into the action and plucks the wire from the ground. 

The Khrelan releases one of Yaz’s hands to reach out to stop him but Yaz is ready, hooks her arm around the Khrelan’s and holds it back  _ just  _ long enough for Graham to press the suctioned end of the wire to her temple. 

Yaz dives with a speed she didn’t know she was capable of, slams her hand down on the switch beneath the console, and whips her head back around in horror. 

The Doctor  _ screams.  _ It’s agonized, uncontrollable and horrifying, and Yaz holds her breath, finds herself squeezing her eyes shut as if it’ll block out the sound. 

She clenches her fist on the beat of every second. 

_ One, two…  _

_ Three.  _ Yaz flicks the switch off on the dot, and watches Graham catch the Doctor under the arms as she crumples. “Ryan!” She calls, but he already has the lever pulled before she finishes saying his name.

Gusts of wind erupt through the console room as the doors fly open, and despite the Doctor’s promise that they wouldn’t get caught in the vacuum Yaz finds herself clinging to the edge of the console, her weight tilting dangerously in the direction of the stars. 

“Hold onto her!” She shouts to Graham, who already has one firm grip on a metal pipe and the other fisted in the Doctor’s coat. Her head lulls dangerously, blissfully unaware of the violent push of the air. 

“Ryan, that’s probably good, son!” Graham calls, and there’s a loud  _ click  _ before the doors swing closed, and the atmosphere settles. 

Yaz, Ryan and Graham as a collective lean into whatever’s closest, heaving for breath in the aftershock, reveling in their victory for  _ just  _ a moment. There never seems to be time to do that. 

Wrung dry, the three of them work their way over to the Doctor’s side, and Yaz sits back with a short exhale. “She alright?” 

Graham rolls up the Doctor’s sleeve to press his fingers to her wrist, nodding after a moment. “Think so.” 

“Do you think it worked?” Ryan worries, and Yaz’s face crumbles as she trails her fingertips next to the burn on the Doctor’s temple. She really did mean  _ shock.  _

“It better have.” She mutters, and the three settle into watchful silence. 

It’s only a couple minutes before the Doctor opens her eyes, slow and fluttering against the light of the console room, her forehead creased in discomfort. 

“Mm.” She squints, and settles for closing her eyes again. “Good work, gang.” 

Yaz feels the last ounces of trepidation dissipate and she can’t help but smile and breathe out a laugh, relief washing over her and adding a new type of weakness into the mix. 

“Good to have you back properly, Doc.” Graham appears similarly relaxed, a hand dropping heavily to the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“So it worked, then?” Ryan clarifies, shifting back a bit to give her some space. 

“Definitely.” She says it a bit disgruntled, hand drifting to the side of her head with a permanent wince. 

“You okay?” Yaz’s smile falters, concern creeping up on her again. 

“Yeah.” The Doctors assures confidently, dropping her hand. “Bit headachy, but nothing a nap won’t fix.” She cracks her eyes open just a bit, just enough to meet Yaz’s eye. “Gold star for you, Yaz. You did well.” 

Yaz can’t help but beam, her heart absolutely soaring with the little bit of recognition, but Ryan frowns. 

“Oi, I thought this was a team effort.” 

“Gold stars all ‘round.” The Doctor closes her eyes again, waving a slow hand absentmindedly. “But Yaz gets an extra one.”

Her smile grows wider, and she adds it to her ever growing stack. 

“Right, come on.” Graham shifts to his knees and offers the Doctor a hand. “Proper nap in a proper bed.” 

She takes his hand gratefully, and Yaz comes to support her on the other side once Graham has her standing. 

“So. Was it worth it for the sonic squirrel?” 

The Doctor frowns as she leans into Yaz’s side, obviously only just now remembering the original purpose of their venture. “Would’ve been if I actually got what I needed.” 

“That’s alright.” Graham slips her arm over his shoulders, holding it in place securely. “Lord knows that thing would’ve kept me up all hours.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a weird flex for you: i’m seeing falling in reverse on monday, and my concert hype is always a bit distracting so i might not get another chapter out til end of next week. But prompts are encouraged (please distract me from my life rn) and reviews are greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!!


	8. Just One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor refuses to sleep for a day too long, and the TARDIS intervenes where the fam cannot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lady, who asked for a sleep deprived, nightmare ridden, hallucinating thirteen who gets knocked out by the TARDIS. 
> 
> Tried to write some funny fluff but it turned into angsty fluff. It’s s12’s fault, not mine

“She’s doing it again.” Hands in pockets, Ryan can only frown at the crumpled mess of grey coat and limbs on the console room floor. The Doctor is breathing evenly, snoring softly if he listens close enough and he, Graham and Yaz just stand over her, unnerved and considering. 

“Should we move her to a bedroom?” Graham tilts his head sympathetically, sighing quietly at the sight of her peacefully passed out on the floor. 

“No.” Yaz says quickly, holding a hand out to stop him before he can start. “I don’t think she’s slept in a few weeks at _least,_ and once she wakes up she’ll stay up. We should leave her be.” 

Ryan and Graham nod and and the three begin to disperse, backing away with feather-light steps and a close eye on the Doctor’s stilled form. 

She stirs then and Ryan’s not sure what roused her, but her eyes are cracking open, flying open the rest of the way, and she sits upright. 

“Why am I on the floor?” The Doctor’s eyes are glazed and unfocused, scanning the aforementioned as if it’s the culprit. 

“Because you’re doing that thing again where you refuse to sleep.” Everyone having given up on slipping out unnoticed, Ryan steps back up to the console to glare down at her disapprovingly, hoping his gaze is as steady as he means for it to be but concern is most definitely leaking between his words. “And passin’ out because you _need_ sleep.” 

She deflates a bit at that, a tired hand coming up to rub her eye as she visibly stifles a yawn and begins clambering to her feet. 

It’s gotten a bit easier to confront her lately. Instead of dodging around her tidbits of behavior that shed light on whatever pieces of her secrets she’s still keeping to herself, Ryan, Yaz and Graham are more up front. They call her out when she’s being a bit rude and instead of getting defensive, she apologizes. They ask if she’s okay when her eyes go somewhere far away and instead of just changing the subject, she answers honestly, _then_ changes the subject. 

“Doctor.” Yaz warns, stepping closer to her once she’s on her feet and leaning slightly into the console for support. “This has been going on for a while now. Nightmares or not, you can’t stay awake forever.” The TARDIS chirps in what _has_ to be agreement. 

A few weeks ago she may have snapped at Yaz’s bluntness, but instead the Doctor looks away sheepishly like she’s been caught. 

In the first couple weeks following their confrontations with the Master, Ryan and the others were regularly shaken awake in the middle of the night by the echoes of screaming bouncing through the corridors. Any time they bolted out of bed to follow the source of the noise, they’d find the Doctor wide awake, coat draped over her sleep attire they’ve only seen on a handful of occasions, buried in a task she’d clearly only just started on. 

The Doctor bites her lower lip, suddenly taking intense interest in the inanimate controls beneath her hands. “I haven’t had a nightmare in months.” 

“That’s because you haven’t _slept_ in - months?” Yaz’s face drops at the realization. “Has it really been that long?” 

The Doctor doesn’t respond, just flicks a couple unprogrammed switches simply for the sake of hearing them click. 

“Doc, you really don’t look well.” Graham’s voice lowers a notch, trying to catch her eye in his seriousness. She still doesn’t look up. “How long do you plan to go on like this?” 

“I’m not human!” She tries, voice weak with exhaustion and invalidating every word that comes out of her mouth. “A cat nap here and there is enough for me.” 

“If you pass out, does it count as a cat nap?” Ryan challenges. “And alien or not, five minutes every week or so isn’t gonna cut it.” He gestures vaguely to the Doctor’s disheveled, listless demeanor. “Obviously.” 

She frowns at him, _specifically_ at him, holding his eye with a hint of betrayal flickering in her own. She tilts her head a bit, a silent plea, her request visible and he sees right through it. Ryan knows that _she_ knows he’s the weakest link out of the three of them; the most likely to cave out of empathy and leave her be. 

A while ago, Ryan most definitely would have given in. Now, he holds her gaze firmly, and takes control of it. 

“Doctor.” He says her name with a firm kindness, leaving no room for her to duck and dodge. 

“Ryan.” She says innocently, that toned-down look in her eye switching from vaguely pleading to simply unaware. 

Ryan stands his ground, and the Doctor’s eyes flicker from him to Yaz, then to Graham, and she suddenly looks a bit worried. Realizes she’s cornered. 

“I need to tune the friction contrafibulators.” She mutters, quick quiet enough it might just be for herself. 

“There’s no way that’s a proper word.” Graham shoots the Doctor a disbelieving look but she’s found her exit; makes pointedly busy work of hunching over a set of switches and removing them, frowning at them, simply giving each one a close eye and a rub with her sleeve before screwing it back into place and moving onto the next. 

Ryan looks over at the sound of Yaz’s defeated sigh, a disheartened helplessness written all over her face that he feels deep in his gut. 

“Come on.” She says to him and Graham, softly, but not even trying to keep the Doctor from hearing. “Let’s leave her alone.” 

Before turning to leave, Ryan doesn’t miss the slump in the Doctor’s shoulders and a brief pause in the sound of console bits being disturbed. 

Even with her back turned, the waves of melancholy and disappointment are clear as words on paper, but what does she expect them to do? She doesn’t like being pestered, doesn’t like being alone, but how are they meant to watch her stumble over herself in fatigue and _not_ pester her into a nap that she’ll refuse a dozen times over? They’re only human, and she’s their best friend. Who _really_ needs a nap.

On their way out of the console room, Ryan must have a look on his face that catches Graham’s attention because he’s jolted out of his thoughts, Graham’s hand firmly clasped over his shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, son. She’ll tire herself out properly sooner or later.” 

She doesn’t, unfortunately. The following two days consist of watchful eyes and worried, whispered exchanges, because the Doctor’s in a constant state of looking like she’s about to keel over. Somehow, she never does. 

Even when Ryan, Graham and Yaz enter the console room on the third morning, the Doctor’s still on her feet. Hardly. 

Unlike the previous few days, she’s completely still. There’s a forgotten wrench at her feet, a pair of goggles hanging in a loose grasp, and a pinch at her brow. 

“Doctor?” Yaz is the first to advance, always ever so observant, immediately finding cause for concern in the Doctor’s unresponsiveness. She’s usually perked up with a readied greeting before they’ve even made it down the stairs. 

Now, she leans back against the console with empty eyes transfixed straight ahead. Ryan follows her gaze to the TARDIS doors, but they’re shut; uninteresting. 

“Doctor.” Yaz says her name with a sternness this time, snapping her fingers in front of the Doctor’s face to snap her into awareness. 

She doesn’t even flinch, let alone meet Yaz’s eye. She’s a bit grey, a bit shaky, almost giving off the illusion that she’s ill instead of on the self-inflicted brink of collapse. 

Ryan and Graham look up in alarm as the orange glow of the console room darkens, accompanied by a distant groan, then it all normalizes, and Ryan gets the strong sense that the TARDIS is _very_ upset. 

“Oi, Doc.” Graham and Ryan come to stand at Yaz’s side, Graham cutting off the Doctor’s view of the doors in the process, and only then does she respond. There’s the slightest shake of her head, a couple experimental blinks as she tries, and fails, to focus her eyes on Graham, but she hears him. 

He softens, then, Ryan sees it in the way the crease at his brow disappears, and his shoulders lose a bit of their tension. He adopts that grandfatherly tone that only the Doctor, Yaz, and Ryan himself are deserving of, eyes warm and kind and just a little bit sad. “What are you looking at?” 

The Doctor blinks at him, then at Yaz, then pauses on Ryan like she’s only just noticed he’s there. He realizes then, with a sinking heart, that she’s looking right through him. 

“A child.” She reveals, though it’s barely audible. She’s lost again, wherever it is she goes. 

“A child?” Ryan tilts his head, wrinkles his brow in confusion and takes a glance over his shoulder just in case. “Where?” He prompts, which in retrospect might’ve been the wrong question.

Her voice is more than exhausted when she speaks; it’s absolutely shattered. “Gallifrey.” 

Ryan shares a look with Yaz, who’s brow is pinched with worry, then Graham, who just looks plain confused. Ryan feels a bit of a mixture of the two. Every day comes with more questions, it seems. 

“Come on.” Yaz reaches out to tug gently on the sleeve of the Doctor’s coat. “You need to get some rest.” 

She pulls her arm away with surprising force, the motion throwing her briefly off balance before she regains her footing. “No.” 

Yaz frowns, slowly reaching out to her again. “Doctor, you’re not well. Please.” 

“ _No._ ” It’s the most alert she’s been since they found her, but there’s a disjointed flash of fear in her eyes that tells Ryan she’s still far from composed. 

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Ryan’s not sure if she’s even listening, but he’s feeling desperate. Actually, he’s well past desperate. “Are the nightmares really that bad?” 

Her gaze sharpens, jerks in his direction but she doesn’t look angry, just a bit helpless, and impossibly serious. 

_Yes._

He believes her. 

* * *

The Doctor has to resist the urge to clamp her hands over her ears, because it’s so loud. _So loud._

The screams. Always the screams. 

Almost always, more specifically, the children’s screams. The children crying out for their mothers, crying out in pain, crying out in confused anguish as their homeland erupts into flames before their eyes. 

All 2.47 billion children are wailing a cacophony in her head, rattling her skull, overwhelming her raw and open mind. 

There’s that one child, specifically, that she keeps seeing. He must have been a childhood friend, or a classmate, or a neighbor. Someone ingrained in the baseline of her consciousness, drilled into the far corners of her memory, but just out of reach until now. All the Doctor knows is that at one early point in her long, endless life, he was important to her. 

Flames consume the space behind the child, and he screams. The Doctor closes her eyes so that she doesn’t have to watch him burn too. 

She needs to sleep. 

Ryan, Yaz and Graham keep telling her so, and they’re still telling her now, actually, in this moment that she’s trying so desperately to ground herself to. The sounds of their voices, quiet but demanding, the voids in the space around her and inside her their presence fills. 

But the screams are too loud, the flames are too hot, and she can’t bring herself to move a muscle. 

The TARDIS forces itself into the corner of her mind, fighting through layers of haze and disorientation until it finds an open door. 

_You’re hallucinating._

The Doctor frowns, managing to summon up a twinge of indignance despite herself. _I know._

_You’re thirty-two days behind your necessary sleep cycle._

The Doctor just rolls her eyes, or at least thinks about rolling her eyes, because the TARDIS knows she’s always found sleep cycles purely conceptual. 

_And require fifteen hours of sleep to reconfigure._

She gives the mental equivalent of a groan at the very thought and starts working harder to snap her brain back into proper working order. 

Clear as day, the Doctor feels the TARDIS’s disapproval thrum deep in her bones. 

_I’m fine._ The Doctor tries to push her out and focus on the voices of her friends drifting in and out, the hand on her shoulder, the figures she can just make out through the smoke. 

The TARDIS scolds her subconscious like a disgruntled mother, and the Doctor lets it wash over her like a guilty child. 

She feels a hand gently lay on hers, and she’s once again being encouraged to step forward. In the direction of her bedroom; her bed, her dreams. 

She never uses that bedroom for a reason. It’s too dark, too far away from the heart of familiarity. The console room brings her a special sort of comfort when the Doctor’s feeling particularly alone. The sense of home brought on by the closeness of the TARDIS has been a lifeline, in particularly recent times. 

The Doctor’s forced to take a step forward, and she refuses to take another. She can’t articulate the words to express _why_ she can’t go to her room, _why_ she can’t go to sleep, _why_ she can’t close her eyes for longer than a few seconds. 

But they know that already, don’t they? They’re just trying help. The hand is a still in hers, squeezing softly, and it makes her heavy hearts a bit lighter. 

Still, the Doctor takes a step back, leaning into the comfort of the console. 

She can’t do it. 

There’s a sharp prick in the Doctor’s neck, distorted surroundings blur into nothing, and the world goes dark. 

* * *

“Did the TARDIS just...” 

Ryan lunges forward to grab the Doctor as she drops, and with arms hooked awkwardly around her torso he lowers her carefully to the floor. 

Yaz and Graham immediately crouch down, checking her pulse, searching her face for signs of consciousness. 

Ryan tilts the Doctor’s head to one side, her expression motionless and unaware as he swipes her hair out of the way and locates the pin-sized dart in the back of her neck. 

“It sure did.” Ryan can’t help but chuckle. The TARDIS _actually_ did that. 

“What, what am I missing?” Graham looks back and forth between him and Yaz, then cranes his neck to get a look for himself. 

“The TARDIS… I dunno. Tranquilized her?” Yaz looks to Ryan, unsure, and he can only shrug. 

“Basically.” He gently moves her head again so that she’s facing upright, and dares to give her cheek a couple experimental taps. “She’s out. Like -” He snaps his fingers in front of her face, gives her shoulder a shake, pokes her in the forehead. “- _out_ out.”

“Stop that.” Yaz smacks him lightly in the arm and sits back on her heels, pushing her hair behind her ears and sighing loudly. “Well, looks like the TARDIS solved that problem for us, then.” 

“She looks like she could sleep for days.” Ryan comments, wincing a bit. 

“Hopefully,” Yaz shoves her arms beneath the Doctor’s back and begins to haul her upright, grunting slightly through her words. “The TARDIS drugged her perfectly and she’ll sleep until she’s _actually_ ready to wake up.” 

“Drugged by her own ship.” Graham shakes his head in exasperation at the very thought. “She’s gonna be livid.” 

Ryan moves to kneel at the Doctor’s side, eager to help Yaz get her to bed, but he pauses. “Hang on.” 

Yaz has one of the Doctor’s arms around her shoulders and lifts her head to frown at him. “What?” 

“What if we just get some pillows and blankets and get her comfy in here?” He suggests on a hunch. “Think about it. Have we ever seen her actually _use_ her bedroom?” 

Graham and Yaz consider, then realization dawns on their faces. 

“She’s always in here.” Yaz acknowledges, eyes scanning the space of the console room curiously. “Everything to do that there is to do in the TARDIS, but she acts like it’s only this big.” 

“Suppose this is just where she’s most comfortable, then.” Graham decides, smiling a bit as he climbs to his feet. “I’ll go fetch those blankets.” 

“And pillows!” Ryan calls after him as he’s disappearing into the corridor, then flops back to sit cross-legged on the floor. 

Yaz is staring thoughtfully down at the Doctor, fingers carding through her hair and smoothing it down away from her face. 

“What do you think she dreams about, Ryan?” She asks quietly, without looking up. 

Ryan mulls it over for a moment. “Could be loads of things.” 

His answer doesn’t seem to satisfy her, and her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. 

“Do you think she’ll ever tell us?” 

Ryan presses his lips into thin line, hopelessly thinking this one over, but his thoughts are interrupted by Graham returning with a heap of the warmest blankets and the softest pillows. 

“This enough?” Graham dumps the pile down in front of them, dusting his hands off uselessly. 

“That’ll do it.” 

They prop a pillow behind her head and work a couple of thick blankets under her back, drape another over her legs and up to her shoulders. It’s about as comfortable as one can get on a metal floor, Ryan decides, but is satisfied with their setup nonetheless. 

They don’t disperse immediately, instead taking seats at the Doctor’s side and falling into quiet, content conversation amongst themselves. They don’t necessarily feel the need to watch over her all night, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave her alone, unconscious or not, after finding her in a state of such distress. 

At least it’s not written all over her face anymore, Ryan considers, watching the Doctor’s chest rise and fall evenly, gaze pausing for a moment longer on her motionless, peaceful expression. 

He hopes she sleeps soundly tonight, and that the nightmares don’t find her. She’s earned that, at the very least. Just one night.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I am so, SO excited for Can you hear me? tomorrow. If you have any prompts now, let me know, and if there’s anything you’d like to see me write based on the episode tomorrow then I gotchu!! I’m gonna have LOTS to process 
> 
> Reviews are greatly appreciated :)


	9. Just Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz opens up to the Doctor after the events of Can You Hear Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaz!! Got!! A backstory!!!!!
> 
> For now, here’s a bit of an attempted heart to heart, featuring a very socially awkward Doc and a slight tw for vague references to suicide.

Ryan holds a bit of stiffness in his shoulders as he adheres to the Doctor’s suggestion of a change of clothes, taking the staircase somewhat reluctantly in his stride and vanishing into the darkness of the corridor. 

Graham at his heels wears a tight, painted smile, in his attempt to piggyback the Doctor’s cheery excitement as she rattles off a few facts about Mary Shelley that land on the back of his head as he follows Ryan out of the console room. 

Yaz remains, a twinge of sympathy gripping her heart as she watches them go, because she knows how hard the day’s been on the both of them. It wasn’t easy personally, either, but here in the aftermath, Yaz doesn’t find herself complaining.

There’s a bit of a weight there, a wound not necessarily reopened, but one she hasn’t allowed herself to dwell on in a long time. She finds herself playing her  _ escape _ attempt over in her head, the events and emotions that led up to it. The events and emotions that followed. 

“Wardrobe, Yaz! Chop chop!” The Doctor claps her hands twice before returning them to the controls, eyes fixed intently on a monitor as she tunes it’s settings. 

Yaz works her fingers together and glances up, the Doctor’s listless dance around the console prompting her to smile. 

“Yeah,” She responds distractedly, head cocked to one side. “Actually, can we talk for a moment?” 

The Doctor snaps to attention and her hands freeze against the controls, eyes wide and prompting and at least a tiny bit nervous. “‘Course we can.” 

Yaz crosses the couple steps distance between them and leans comfortably into the console while the Doctor remains motionless, hand twitching like she’s not sure what to do with it and eventually settling for dropping it to her side. 

“Just - I wanted to tell you a little bit about my nightmare. Or rather, I want you to know a bit about…” She grimaces, searching for the right word, then shakes her head impatiently. “Nevermind, just hear me out. There’s a reason I’m about to tell you all of this.” 

The Doctor tilts her head, at least mildly intrigued, though her fingers drum against her thighs anxiously. She leans against the console, then stands again, folding her arms across her chest and worrying her lower lip. 

Yaz, knowing her all too well, can only giggle. “Doctor, relax. I know you’re socially awkward; you don’t have to say a word. Just listen.” 

Something about the acknowledgement relaxes her a bit, and the Doctor untucks her hands from under her arms to stick them in her coat pockets instead. She nods encouragingly, her atmosphere a tad more open, and Yaz takes a breath. 

“So about three years ago, I ran away from home.” It’s the easiest way to begin, she thinks, in hopes of holding the Doctor’s attention as tight as possible in the short window she has before its inevitably diverted. “I was in the middle of a pretty… dark spot in my life. And I almost did something stupid.” 

It’s a hit or a miss when it comes to the Doctor reading into subtext, and the confused pinch at her brow and half frown on her lips tells Yaz this one’s a miss. 

“I was ready to run away from myself.” She says quietly, not wanting to state it blatantly. “Far away.” A beat. “ _ All  _ the way.” 

The Doctor straightens a bit, concentration rejuvenated and interest piqued to its max. She understands. 

“I didn’t.” Yaz says quickly. “As you can see.” She adds on a chuckle, with a vague gesture to herself. 

The Doctor still doesn’t speak, but she eases back to lean into the console and crosses her arms again. Not rigid, nor closed off this time, but comfortable and at relative ease.  _ Go on.  _

Yaz shuffles one foot back and forth on the floor, dropping her gaze to follow it. It’s a bit harder to talk about these things when the other party is suddenly looking at you in an entirely different fashion. 

“My sister sent a police officer after me, who’s actually the reason I became one in the first place, but that’s a whole other story.” Yaz waves her hand dismissively. “To make it short: it went well, I got help, and I got a lot better.” 

The Doctor tilts her head in Yaz’s direction, eyes cast elsewhere and narrowed, tongue peeking between her teeth as she waits to see if there’s more. 

There’s plenty, but there’s also a point she’s  _ really  _ wanting to make. “That’s what I dreamt about earlier, and it’s got me thinking about it all. How far I’ve come, the fears I’ve faced, and - the fears I’ve conquered, actually.” 

The Doctor’s lips twitch into a half smile at that, and she breaks her streak of silence. “The resilience of human beings,” she says wistfully, an echo of unseen memories. “Is amazing. The resilience of  _ you, _ ” her gaze whips around to meet Yaz’s intently. “is absolutely incredible.” 

“Yeah,” Yaz nods, not quite brushing it off. “And you’re right, I got over a lot of obstacles on my own, learned a bit and carried on, and now I’m on the other side of it all. But Doctor,” She feels her heart soften, and she sighs quietly. “I owe an  _ awful lot  _ of that to you.” 

The Doctor blinks, and her eyes melt into something beseeching; childlike in contrast to the ancient being Yaz felt like she was looking at only moments before. She seems entirely surprised, and is once again at a loss for words. 

Yaz pulls her gaze away slowly, wincing slightly as she speaks. “When I met you I was starting to slip a bit, I guess you could say.” She can feel the Doctor’s eyes boring into the side of her head. “It wasn’t anything like it was three years ago but - it was there. And it was  _ really _ starting to hurt.” 

There’s no sound besides the hum of the engines as Yaz pauses. 

“Then, on the day where I was in the most need of a sense of purpose, you showed up.” 

The Doctor’s still looking at her when Yaz lifts her head. Her expression is unreadable, but not emotionless. More like too many emotions, all contradicting and indistinguishable from each other. 

“Doing these things with you,” Yaz folds her arms loosely over her chest, and shrugs. “they’ve just really helped me a lot more than I realized until today. Traveling with you, meeting people,  _ saving  _ people, learning all these things and seeing the amazing and  _ not  _ so amazing parts of the universe has been… healing.” 

There’s a flicker in the Doctor’s glassy eyes, and she only blinks. Listens. 

“And I know it isn’t going to last forever.” Yaz says, not allowing herself to become downtrodden with the notion just yet. “But after not even two years with you I feel… whole, I suppose. I don’t think I’d ever felt that before I met you. I feel like I’m properly on the other end of it all now, you know?” She tilts her head, hoping she’s making sense. “And I owe that to you, Doctor. I want you to know that.” 

The Doctor looks completely at a loss, and also looks a bit like she’s about to cry, but never does. 

“You help people, and you  _ save  _ people, in a lot more ways than you realize, Doctor.” Yaz smiles a bit, and shrugs again. “I just felt like you needed to know that.” 

The Doctor blinks in wonder, parts her lips to say something but seems to decide against it. 

“You don’t have to say anything, remember?” Yaz elbows her in the side playfully, trying to jostle her back into action. “Thanks for listenin’.”

The Doctor shows no lingering signs of discomfort, to Yaz’s surprise, silent for a couple more moments as if she’s still processing the past few minutes. “Thanks for tellin’.” She says softly, casually, but just about everything about her now shines with clear appreciation, pride, and perhaps a touch of relief. 

Yaz smile grows and she gives a small nod. “Now. What’s this about Frankenstein?” 

The Doctor resonates in the slightly heavy atmosphere only a moment longer before her shoulders straighten and her face brightens. She spins around on one heel to face the console, readied hands raised above the controls. “Right, yes! Mary Shelley. Lake Geneva, 1816.” She busies herself with the monitor again, though the display is blank. “Go get a change of clothes, Yaz, and check on the boys, will you? Might’ve gotten lost.” 

She abides eagerly, crossing over to the staircase then slowing as she takes each step. Yaz takes a quick glance back to see the Doctor, hands stilled, shoulders relaxed, and a small, heartfelt smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda struggling with my writing and my focus and all that but I’m trying to keep at it regardless :)) Reviews are seriously appreciated, and I’m always taking prompts!


	10. Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just wants them safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAR ME OUT. Hear me out. 
> 
> I wrote this back in November after the first s12 trailer came out and we got those two tiny glimpses of the lone cyberman and it’s currently VERY!! RELEVANT!! the only thing I think that outs it as a pre s12 fic is a part where Yaz mentions the cyberman being intent on killing the Doctor specifically. It was my best guess at the time. 
> 
> Otherwise, this might as well be the conversation at the end of The Haunting of Villa Diodati: but make it REAL angst.

“It’s not safe.”

“You know that doesn’t change a thing, Doc.”

“It _should_ , Graham.” Her legs are weak. Detached, the Doctor could easily believe, if they weren’t still holding her upright. 

Fear, in its rawest, truest form. Cold and numbing, coursing through every fibre of her being. Her body feels heavy. Dread threatens to bring racing hearts to stillness.

“Yaz,” She tries instead. The single word, in and of itself, a plea. A prayer. “Please, listen to me-” 

“We’re not leaving you.” Yaz cuts her argument in half with a tone borderlining irritated, incredulous. Above all, ferociously insistent. “Especially not now. Not when there’s something _that_ powerful out there trying to kill you. Not the earth, not even the rest of us - it’s coming for _you._ ” 

“That’s why I have to do this alone, can’t you see that?” The Doctor pushes herself away from the console in their direction with heavy steps and a desperation to her stance. “I have to.” 

“No, you don’t-” Ryan attempts, and the Doctor turns on him. 

“Ryan, you’ve already lost two members of your family.” There’s something dangerous about her voice. A threat, on behalf of something that isn’t there to make it in person. 

He recoils at that, hurt, but not offended. Taking pause, reassessing. He can’t help but look at Graham. 

“Doc, don’t talk like that.” Graham all but snaps. Firm enough to grab her attention, confident enough for Ryan’s anxieties to disappear before her eyes. 

_You should be terrified,_ she thinks, unable to properly process how calmly they’re behaving. 

“Cybermen are-” She begins weakly. 

“You told us already.” Ryan reminds her. “Sounds pretty manageable. We’ve seen a lot of dangerous stuff.” 

_You don’t understand._

“Then why not let me handle it alone, if it’s so _manageable_?” She hisses, and each and every one of them stand a little taller. 

“Because we’re not going to leave you in danger!” Just a notch below a shout. Yaz is adamant. 

_This always happens._

“You’re not usually this stubborn about it.” Graham brims with similar frustration, though his words adopt a softer tone and his eyes narrow as he tries to see behind hers. 

She shrinks under his scrutiny, clenched fists digging crescent imprints into her palms.

“You’re terrified.” It’s Yaz that comes to conclusion first, and the Doctor looks her way to find herself under that same analytic gaze. “I’ve never seen you this scared before.” 

She opens her mouth to respond, but she’s cut off again. 

“ _That’s_ all the reason we need not to leave you alone.” Ryan decides. “I’ve got a feeling that scared and alone isn’t a good mix for you.” 

The Doctor tries to see a future with them fighting along her side. Seeing these creations to their final, _final_ end. It’s only one cyberman, as far as she knows. Only one threat. Four to one - those are good odds

Maybe it won’t be as bad as she thought. Maybe it’ll be weak. An easy fight. Maybe it’ll already be dead by the time she finds it. Maybe it just wants to go for a curry - the universe is full of surprises. 

Maybe it’ll be so, _so_ much worse than she ever could expect. 

Optimism can be a saving grace, but with it often comes a certain degree of blindness. 

It’s taken too many mistakes to learn her lesson, and the Doctor wonders if she ever really _did_ learn. 

The cybermen’s body count is immeasurable. Can she bear to add to it?

_Again?_

“No.” 

There’s a pull in the depths of her anxieties telling her to stop as she turns her back to her friends and embraces the controls in three long strides. Face set in a deep frown, determination calming shaky hands enough to enter the coordinates to Sheffield. 

“What d’you mean, no?” Graham challenges. 

“ _No._ ” She bellows, and snaps the materialization lever down. 

“Doctor-” The beginnings of a plea is silenced when the TARDIS roars to life and throws Yaz off balance. “Doctor!” She shouts, hands braced against the closest pillar in reach. “What are you doing?” 

The TARDIS lands with the zero finesse. The graceless, heavy thud sends Graham staggering and Ryan straight to the floor. 

Ryan props himself up on his elbows, disorientedly trying to see through the windows. Realization dawns like ice water to the face and his head whips around to face the console. “Did you take us home?!”

“I’ll come back for you when it’s safe.” The Doctor says, no sincerity in her voice or affirmation in her eyes. It’s never safe.

Uneasy silence poisons the air around them.

Bewilderment, worry, and fear. A sickening combination that overwhelms her senses, chills her skin. They know it’s not a promise. 

Yaz, Ryan and Graham look between each other, and then to the Doctor in question. Confirmation. 

“Go. Please.” It’s starting to take effort, staying even relatively calm. The desperation to keep them safe stirs uncomfortably in her chest. Squeezes her hearts. Dread is a bubbling river of fire coursing through her veins, and it’s starting to burn. 

Ryan stands, straightening his jacket, maintaining challenging eye contact. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” Her hand twitches, still curled around the lever. 

Yaz’s expression radiates half the stages of grief in a span of five seconds. Pausing at anger, morphing into a deep and painfully visible sadness that dulls usually bright eyes. 

Graham just looks like he’s waiting for her to change her mind. 

And she wants to so badly. That’s always the problem.

“Go.”

“We’re your mates.” Yaz says, as if she has to remind her. 

“We’re family.” Graham reiterates. 

They don’t move, and with an angry, impatient scowl she lunges forward to do it herself. She shoves Ryan and Graham with hands rough against their chests, and they stumble, only slightly. Mouths agape, unbelieving. 

She starts to storm towards Yaz and she’s met halfway. Yaz’s hands are fisted in her coat before the Doctor can reach her shoulders and at first she thinks she’s fighting back, trying to throw her off balance by tugging forward, but the Doctor finds their chests pressed together and Yaz’s arms curled firmly around her back. Stilling her. Simply holding her. 

And the Doctor melts. Her forehead falls to Yaz’s shoulder and her arms wrap around her waist, tightening the embrace. Savoring it. She can feel Yaz’s heart break against her own that absolutely crumble. 

She finds strength in her hold nonetheless. 

“Please be safe.” Yaz’s voice trembles with a familiar apprehension. “This shouldn’t feel like a goodbye.” 

The Doctor has no words for the disarranged thoughts bouncing around in her brain. A long, weighted exhale against Yaz’s shoulder is all she has, and then she steps back. 

Ryan hugs her quickly. Forcefully, not giving her enough time to respond before he’s holding her shoulders and ducking his head to look her straight in the eye. “Be safe.” He reemphasizes, and the Doctor only nods. 

“I’m not hugging you-” Graham’s already halfway out the door, familiar front room decor coming into focus behind him. “One, because you’ve broken another one of my chairs, but _mostly_ because we’ll see you in a couple days. Same as always. Right, Doc?” He stills with a hand against the door, holding it open and Yaz and Ryan join him outside the TARDIS. 

The Doctor smiles, lovingly and sadly, and genuinely doesn’t know if she’s telling the truth. “Right.” None of the smiles in return are genuine. 

The doors close, and she’s left alone.

“Right, then.” She tries to reassume a bit of her usual bravado, shaking her shoulders up and down and adding a bounce to her glide around the console, but its lackluster. Heartless. “Just you and me. Let’s take care of this once and for all.” A weak chuckle. “Again.”

The fiery panic has subsided but is replaced by an almost equally distracting emptiness. She hasn’t felt that in a while. 

The Doctor risks a glance at the monitor to her left, pulling it into her immediate field of vision with a hesitant hand. Outside the TARDIS doors, Yaz, Ryan and Graham are just standing there. Watching. Waiting, perhaps. 

She forces her gaze away and tiredly pulls the lever down. 

The floor beneath her hums with harsh vibrations and the TARDIS throws her off her feet. The usual wheeze accompanying dematerialization is replaced with an angry groan, a violent shake, and a loud thump. Jumping to her feet, the Doctor grabs the sides of the monitor with both hands. The TARDIS hasn’t moved.

“What?” She wonders aloud, looking up at the ceiling. 

Lights brighten one at a time in a circle around her, red with protest, then fade back to a low orange.

“Hold on,” She widens her eyes and lifts a finger accusingly. “Did you do that on purpose?”

The ring forms again, quicker and just as bright, and a series of confirming beeps sound from the console itself. 

Understanding draws the Doctor’s frown deeper. “Not you too.” The visual and auditory response repeats, and she pushes her hands into her hair. “No, no, no.” Head bowed and pacing circles around the console, she’s quick to argue her case. “You know just as well as I do that the cybermen are far, _far_ more dangerous than the three of them realize. They’re too careless - their optimism will get them killed.” The console beeps at a piercing frequency to convey annoyance. “I don’t care if I’m making you dizzy, just listen to me.”

The beeping gets louder and the Doctor puts her hands over her ears, coming to a halt with her back to the doors. “Sorry, sorry.”

The TARDIS goes quiet and instead bumps a memory against the edge of the Doctor’s consciousness. Her eyes drop to the floor. 

“My judgement isn’t _clouded_ by what happened to Bill,” She immediately defends, a shadowed, sickening weariness sinking back into her bones. “I’m trying to learn from it. And Bill,” She goes on, eyes snapping back up. “Wasn’t optimistic. She wasn’t _pessimistic,_ but she knew, like, actually _truly_ knew how dangerous it is out there. She told me straight to my face to keep her safe, and that’s exactly what I didn’t do.” 

Her ship begins to flare up a protest, but the Doctor stops her. “Shut up. I’m simply taking precautions. Maybe if I did that a little more in the past, fewer people would have died.”

The lighting in the console darkens from warm orange to an alarming, scary red. She made the TARDIS angry. 

“It’s too recent.” She blurts out, hands gripping the edge of the console, relenting. Trying to calm the dangerous vibrations increasing beneath her palms. “What happened to Bill. I think it’s just…” The Doctor’s shoulders droop, head sinking with newfound exhaustion. She closes her eyes. “A whole regeneration ago, and it’s just too recent for me not to be… scared.” She grits her teeth, struggling through the confession, and the TARDIS reassumes it’s natural light. Calming her. Listening. “I’m so scared for them. More than usual.” 

Her warm, beautifully living ship hums soothingly beneath her fingers, and she leans into it. Her breathing slows.

“But you won’t let me leave until I let them in, won’t you?” The TARDIS just continues to hum, reassuming its place in the background of her consciousness, and the Doctor knows she’s defeated.

_It’ll be fine_ , she promises herself, and hope she can manage to believe it at some point. 

Reluctantly, she opens her eyes and looks up to the monitor expectantly, anticipating three confused faces and undoubtedly Graham demanding explanation as to why the TARDIS is smoking in his front room. 

But the space is lifeless, and someone clearing their throat from the TARDIS entryway prompts her to whirl around.

“How long have you been standing there?” She stands frozen, deer in the headlights, leaning slightly back into the console under three pairs of wondering eyes. 

“Long enough to know better than to ask questions.” Graham’s tone is tender. Understanding. “For now at least.”

Yaz’s soft expression is so sad, so kind in and of itself. The Doctor braces for sympathy - pity, even, and the unsettling sort of guilt it inflicts, but Yaz just holds her gaze wordlessly like she’s seeing her friend in a whole new fashion. There’s curiosity there, in her eyes. She has questions, but she’ll save them for another time. 

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but is the TARDIS not letting you leave without us?” Ryan’s acting as if the sour interaction between the four of them never happened, and that’s something she appreciates in and of itself. His own way of saying _I’m not mad. I get it now._

“Yeah.” She screws her face up, almost embarrassed. “She’s not siding with me on this one.” 

“Doctor, we’re gonna be okay.” Yaz’s words are somehow more convincing now. She’s sure as ever, but a newfound sensitivity laces her voice. “But we don’t want you to be pullin’ your hair out worrying about us.”

“We’ll hang back if you really want us to.” Ryan tells her sincerely. “We trust you. We just…”

“We worry about you too, Doc.” Graham reminds her, and this one she actually needed. 

Why is _caring too much_ so much of a problem sometimes?

The console room flickers and sounds its own opinion, topping it off with a warning rumble beneath the Doctor’s feet. 

“I think the TARDIS is pretty insistent on this one.” She begrudgingly admits. “She can be proper stubborn when she has an opinion.” 

“Well I suppose that settles that, then.” Graham quipps, taking place beside the console with Yaz and Ryan close at his heels. Already bracing for lift-off. Stances firmly set, grips tight.

The sense of seriousness starts to tug her mind back to a dark place, and after simply following them with her eyes she moves herself in between Yaz and Ryan, drawing everyone’s focus to her voice and nothing else. “You have to do _everything_ I say. Every decision I make is in the best interest of your lives and whatever remaining life we find. You have to trust me. Completely.”

“Always.” Yaz vows. The Doctor looks to Ryan and Graham in question, genuinely not knowing what to expect, but she finds an identical certainty in their eyes. They nod their heads. 

“Right.” She huffs nervously, holding the lever with an unsure grip. “Ready?” 

“Ready.”

“Ready.”

“We’ve been ready, just pull the damn lever.” 

The Doctor shoots him a bantering eye and sends one more plea into the air. “Please be careful.” 

She pulls the lever and really, _really_ hopes she’s not leading them to their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real though, what an episode. What a setup. 10/10. 
> 
> PROMPTS ARE ENCOURAGED


End file.
